Saccharine Irony

This site is a compilation of fluid thoughts, a collection of poetry, random glimpses of humor and tragedy, spontaneous notions of an extremely sensitive mind.

A Plea from My Heart to Yours October 2, 2009

Filed under: Events,Mortality stuff,Weather — Aimee @ 3:58 am
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There has been nothing worth writing these days. I haven’t written in this blog for weeks. Caught up in the haste of trying to make a living and trying to live a life, I had no time left for creative pursuits. But now I have a reason to write and perhaps even to make a simple plea.

After typhoon Ketsana pummeled Manila, Quezon City, Marikina, Pasig, and Rizal and left thousands of families homeless, penniless, starving, and lost, it’s difficult putting up an indifferent countenance, pretending as if nothing is wrong with this country.  And now, typhoon Parma is already heading toward the same ravaged cities and municipalities, just when many of the homes are still submerged in murky flood waters. It’s disheartening, yes, but with the number of Filipinos helping each other out, it’s easy to be hopeful despite all the loss.

If you are reading this post, and if you are a kababayan, please don’t forget to offer your prayers, and maybe a bit of the contents of your wallet too. You can donate in cash or in kind– bottled water, powdered milk, noodles, dried beans, rice, and even extra clothes.  I have heard that SM is willing to ship grocery donations to Manila, so if you are in the provinces, you can shop for groceries and ask for SM to transport your donated goods. Aboitiz and Negros Navigation offices are also willing to accept donations.

If you are somewhere near Manila and its neighboring cities, and you have some time to kill, don’t hesitate to volunteer at relief centers and do what little you can to help. No, we don’t need to do great things, we are only asked to do small things with great love.

And if you have some extra cash to spare, please feel free to make cash donations and pledges. If you can put off buying that pair of shoes for another payday and give the money as a donation, may you be blessed a thousandfold. The collective sum can be used to feed more people should this recent typhoon intensify and should relief goods begin to run out. And if there is anything left, the cash donations will be used for the rehabilitation of villages and the reconstruction of homes and buildings ravaged by the catastrophe.

The environment needs your help, too. Accordingly, clogged waterways and garbage-ridden river ways have contributed to the heavy flooding and may very well be the reason why some of the villages in Pasig and Rizal have remained submerged in water, more than six days after last Saturday’s typhoon. If you have the time, do some research about proper waste segregation, garbage disposal, and environment conservation. It is never too late to start our awareness on the environment. The time is NOW.

Lastly, please don’t forget to pray. Pray even during odd times, and ask that the people who suffer be given enough strength to endure everything — loss of lives, loss of loves, loss of living. Go to Church and light a candle for those who are hungry, cold, disoriented, and those who have started to give up. If you are a practising Catholic, please pray the rosary for the whole month of October.  And to the rest who are free spirits, ask your God, whoever you conceive him to be, to heal this land and its people.

We can always help. 🙂


Trees September 24, 2007

Filed under: Faves,Saccharine thoughts — Aimee @ 12:58 pm
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i love trees


Last Friday, I traveled home with my officemates in a white pick-up, right after working hours were over. I was hoping for fine weather after having gone through an awful episode one evening when, traveling from Cagayan de Oro to Bukidnon, a landslide had us stranded inside an immobile bus for four hours. Mercifully, the weather turned out to be beautiful on that afternoon; no rain showers or capricious winds whatsoever. For two hours or so we were offered a delightful view of the green countryside – wide, expansive skies, the sporadic sights of small, wooden houses by the highway, and soft cumulus clouds playing hide-and-seek with distant mountain ranges of beautiful Kitanglad.

But for some reason, I found myself staring at the trees for most of the journey. Interestingly, the trees take on interestingly peculiar shapes as I reclined farther back in my car seat. There were trees that looked like lollipops and emerald cotton candies, and there were those that looked like pointed arrows and twisted spoons. There were trees shaped like giant bonsai-like figures and there was a tree in particular that, to me, looked like upright animal bones because this one, powdery-white in color, did not have any leaf or more than five, stick-like branches.

There were trees resembling an open umbrella, and a few that looked like open fingers. And there was one that I specifically liked, jutting out of the side of a bridge, because it looked like one of those lovely trees found in photos of African savannas, the name of which now escapes me.

In time, my eyes grew tired from all the tree-watching and I started to doze off; my drowsiness amplified by the deepening twilight. When I opened them again, we were steering down to the place of my childhood, and from where I sat the city lights were clearly visible, orange and lovely, against the balmy evening.



Eerie Enchantment September 23, 2007

Filed under: Career Chronicles — Aimee @ 8:20 am
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A few years back, I once lived alone for ten months  in a house of seven bedrooms. It was the time when I just got transferred to a nascent, sleepy city in the heart of the Bukidnon mountains for work. I barely knew anyone in this small city, except for my boss, work mates, and the office janitor. A few months after my new assignment I was looking for a house to share with young professionals like myself when someone suggested a cozy, cabin-like dorm house which was up for rent in a really quiet part of the city. The owner lived in another split-level house a few feet away from the cottage, but because the property was relatively wide, and was surrounded by fruit trees and bamboos, the cabin had an isolated, almost surreptitious appeal to it.

There were not too many neighbors, facing the property was an empty lot lined with cacao plants, and farther away one could see the tips of the mountain forests, hidden now and then by the transitory fog. Public transportation was rather a short walk away so that honking cars, whirring motorcycles, and the like were a welcome rarity. I found the cottage charming at once; its façade was constructed to look like it was a log cabin, although the material used for the exterior walls was no less ordinary than simple red cement. The little wood and cement house had a pretty wrought-iron gate, and potted ferns hung carelessly from under the little windows. Because the house was bordered on two sides by trees and shrubbery, brown leaves would often carpet the pavement during breezy days, and the chorus of the crickets and the sound of bamboo leaves brushing against the wind would often greet me at sundown.

The little house had seven rooms as I had mentioned: three on the first floor and four above the small, steep stairway. It had two spacious bathrooms, and a corner sink. My room on the first floor was the largest and I was happy to have grabbed it first, before anyone else came to live with me at the house. The middle-aged landlady, perhaps a looker during her salad days, was friendly enough but always kept a certain distance from her tenants. She promised me that soon, I would have housemates; mostly young and single nurses working at the public hospital near her place. The summer season merely delayed their arrival, and that come June, the cottage rooms would all be rented out.

Except that the nurses never came. Or anyone else, for that matter. The weeks dragged into months. The landlady became noncommittal, and soon I grew tired of the solitude I once found so charming. I soon dreaded coming home to an empty house of seven bedrooms; the isolation was slowly eating away at me. I would take my dinners at fast foods or little cafes, and play all my CDs upon getting home until the wee hours of the morning. The darkness, the songs of the crickets, and even the bamboo stalks all developed an eerie feel to them that I slept every night with the lights open. I could not stay late outside because by then, the streets would have been pitch black, and if not for the light of the fat, sinister-looking moon, I would surely find myself groping like an idiot on my way home. During the course of the ten months, I did find myself a roommate, but she traveled frequently that she was almost never home at all. My landlady was quite particular with her choices, and so was I, so no one else came to live with me at the cabin.

On the third month, I had a sweaty nightmare, I didn’t sleep until morning. On the sixth month, a number of transients lived at the house for a week, disrupting my sleep even more, and stealing my toothpaste and soap, but the night they finally left, I wished they never did; and I would have gladly given them a gallon of toothpaste if their lives depended on it. On the eighth month, one of my best friends from home spent a night with me, and told me she’d never understand why I would live in such a lonely part in this side of the world. She was right.

On the tenth month, I finally left. And couldn’t be any happier.