Landscape Photography

I told my photography teacher that my battery is running low and my creative juice may also be in trouble. Running more than twenty-four hours coming from work and going straight to an eight hour class that involved walking all over U.P. is not at all conducive. But he rallied me to move along …

By this time I wasn’t paying too much attention, I focused on conserving my energy so I can walk around the uni. Here are a few Hardscapes I took:






Frank and Me

There was this boy named Frank from when I was younger. I met him while he was playing basketball; he was utterly dreamy and all the girls liked him. He was the only son of a fisherman and a lady that brought my family fresh fish everyday. For parents living ever so modestly, he was a strapping young chap who had bright eyes and a mean three pointer.

I had a huge crush on him… and when you’re thirteen, that means love. For you at least.

One day my mom asked me to buy cooking oil after realizing that the amount of sausage we had for lunch was too many for the frying. On my way out, I saw him and his friends walking home after their morning practice. When I passed by him, one of his friends pushed him to me. Our shoulders bumped and I dropped my bottle of cooking oil. He picked it up as fast as he could and handed it back to me. He smiled and apologized for his friend’s behavior; I smiled back and said it was okay. I also secretly thanked his raudy friend.

A day later, I found out that a neighbor who was around my age wanted to meet me; not as a friend but she wanted to size up her competition. I declined. I didn’t want to stoop down her level and she was haplessly one of those young girls who would grow up later on as disgustingly promiscuous. I was out of her league.

While she was simmering in her own vat of putrid jealousy, me and Frank enjoyed our days staring from a distance; I was much too young for love. And according to my cousins, he was much too old for me – funny, that for a thirteen year old, seventeen is apparently too old. Those type of encounters ran until late May, after that he was sent away for college and I never saw him again.

If I met him again today, I’d walk pass him. I can’t even remember how he looked. But I wonder, would he still know my face?

A Compendium

Suddenly, things looked different, felt different and the hues that outlined the usual spectrum of sights I see everyday are heightened. Over night, in a short span of unobserved time, everything became different.

My heart quickened a little and I found myself tossing and turning in bed; nagging feelings are never nice. Try as you may, the proposed alternative doesn’t come sweet to the palate. It is an obvious preoccupation that slowly eats my productive time… the contents of my head is topsy turvy again. I should not be bothered by these I know, but how can you turn your back to what’s coming your way?

United is taking off.


I’ve decided a week ago, after learning of a traitor’s words that I am not very popular when I am not around (Hah! What’s new?). Meaning, they talk about me behind my back – with the intent to gossip and vilify. Unfortunately for that person, he/ she was none the wiser as hypocrisy is his/ her shadow. I tried to build a professional relationship with the said offender but I soon realize that it was useless. I was taught, with firm persuasion, never to go down with the dogs and I must choose my friends wisely. I had to exercise that and somehow, I rid myself of gossipers, backstabbers, malice and most of all trash.

Big, stinkin’, pus filled trash.


Fily said, I should write about sex to catch people’s attention. I thought, “even if one is not a reader, one is bound to look again if we’re discussing about the S word”. I’m not sure where his comment came from but I acknowledged it by ignoring whatever malice it denotes.

I told him that I am trying to write a novel about a girl and a boy, so that should include some wild, hot, dirty sex in it. He laughed … not because of dirty sex but of the thought that I am even contemplating of writing a novel. I threw my copy of M is For Magic at him and hit him squarely in the groin.

That should teach him.

Currently listening to I Could Not Ask For More by Edwin McCain via Pandora

Stilettos on Sidewalks

I watched her cross the street. Each step farther and farther away from me. When she said goodbye, after insisting not to say the word but “see you later”, she walked away and never looked back. I stayed on the other side of the road holding a huge heavy brown bag full of stilettos. She could not bring all her priced shoes so she had me keep them instead. Soon after, I started walking  the opposite direction; looked over my shoulder once to see if I can chance her face in the crowd but she was gone. It pains me that the only decent buddy I find at work is leaving the country for good. Sort of makes me wonder why the hell am I always left behind.

Then it clicks into place, these are stuffs chasing dreams are made of. Sigh.

Currently listening to Lullaby by Shawn Mullins via Pandora


She left me with four of her beautiful shoes … you see, she has a small Imelda in her. We go out and she goes home with a pair, and I can’t count the many times we went out. I am fully aware that by the time this is published she won’t be able to read it; she’ll have too much in her hand – especially goodbyes to her family. I left her with a letter saying everything I wanted to say before she left. I’ve thanked her effusively and I hope I did not come off as unusual (was she high when writing this?). 

I hope, her leaving would mean that she can bring her dreams to her. Canada is so far but we promised to meet again. In the meantime, we’ll be bridging the gap via letters.

Bye Rissa.