Discreet-Time Signal
Sunday, January 15, 2006
From my ATE..
She posted this on my birthday..
http://redjeulle.blogspot.com
Friday, January 13, 2006
To Rimbaldi my PC Fixer
So. (Don’t you hate it when people say that like it constitutes a complete sentence?)I honestly don’t remember the times when you were a baby, mainly because I was also still one myself. I thought your name was Boy because that was what was written in the nursery card, and I could read at three. Thankfully, we have sensible parents who gave us decent names that we don’t have to be embarrassed of it in the future. I have memory snapshots of you being in the duyan, sleeping off your meals. As a matter of fact, that was all I could remember of your infancy: you were either feeding or sleeping.
You were a voracious feeder, as opposed to the toothpick of a child I was. I remember you stuffing your mouth to bursting, and then throwing up five minutes after. I was a very picky eater then, and whenever I see you do this I inwardly cringe and wonder to the high heavens how you can stand eating that much. Well, I wondered how you can stand food, period.
We fought a lot, like Israel and Palestine we hated each other so much that I don’t want to sit next to you at the dining table. Until playtime, that is. As much as we fought, we really didn’t have a choice because the next child in the neighborhood lives like 15 minutes away, and that early in life I worked with what I got.
So we played, but only the games I dictate we should play. At four years old you were having tea with my dolls, slicing up leaves for the great cookout, blowing bubbles using the age-old gumamela solution, and the classic bahay-bahayan. You were such a gullible kid, I made you chew green siling labuyo with this conversation:
Me: Ano yang lampin sa likod mo?
You: Ako si Superman eh.
Me: Sige nga, kung ikaw si Superman, kainin mo to.
I think I blacked out after that because of the spanking I received, worthy of Bantay Bata reporting.
When Emily Rose came, we teamed up against her, naturally. Suddenly she was the enemy—where before treats are divided in two, now it was three. Your talents in harassment were harnessed during these times. But your pikon factor was directly proportional to your harassment capabilities. Nobody wants to cross you, because they will surely suffer the wrath of Hades on a really bad hair day.
You talked back to our parents, shouted at your teachers (remember when you yelled “Tanga!” at Mrs. Mendoza, I really thought she was going to cry), pulled the hair of classmates, and countless other violent incidents at recess time. Once, you were made to sing in music class and somebody dared laugh at your gift of voice, that classmate was sent home at 10 a.m. by the teacher for fear of you dismembering him.
Now you’re all grown up and with better skin. You are now a licensed engineer, and you help mold the country’s youth into people who know math. Happy birthday, and continue to go to the gym but please for the love of God, stop buying pink shirts.
(Cute noh??) ¶ 1:26 AM 3 comments
http://redjeulle.blogspot.com
Friday, January 13, 2006
To Rimbaldi my PC Fixer
So. (Don’t you hate it when people say that like it constitutes a complete sentence?)I honestly don’t remember the times when you were a baby, mainly because I was also still one myself. I thought your name was Boy because that was what was written in the nursery card, and I could read at three. Thankfully, we have sensible parents who gave us decent names that we don’t have to be embarrassed of it in the future. I have memory snapshots of you being in the duyan, sleeping off your meals. As a matter of fact, that was all I could remember of your infancy: you were either feeding or sleeping.
You were a voracious feeder, as opposed to the toothpick of a child I was. I remember you stuffing your mouth to bursting, and then throwing up five minutes after. I was a very picky eater then, and whenever I see you do this I inwardly cringe and wonder to the high heavens how you can stand eating that much. Well, I wondered how you can stand food, period.
We fought a lot, like Israel and Palestine we hated each other so much that I don’t want to sit next to you at the dining table. Until playtime, that is. As much as we fought, we really didn’t have a choice because the next child in the neighborhood lives like 15 minutes away, and that early in life I worked with what I got.
So we played, but only the games I dictate we should play. At four years old you were having tea with my dolls, slicing up leaves for the great cookout, blowing bubbles using the age-old gumamela solution, and the classic bahay-bahayan. You were such a gullible kid, I made you chew green siling labuyo with this conversation:
Me: Ano yang lampin sa likod mo?
You: Ako si Superman eh.
Me: Sige nga, kung ikaw si Superman, kainin mo to.
I think I blacked out after that because of the spanking I received, worthy of Bantay Bata reporting.
When Emily Rose came, we teamed up against her, naturally. Suddenly she was the enemy—where before treats are divided in two, now it was three. Your talents in harassment were harnessed during these times. But your pikon factor was directly proportional to your harassment capabilities. Nobody wants to cross you, because they will surely suffer the wrath of Hades on a really bad hair day.
You talked back to our parents, shouted at your teachers (remember when you yelled “Tanga!” at Mrs. Mendoza, I really thought she was going to cry), pulled the hair of classmates, and countless other violent incidents at recess time. Once, you were made to sing in music class and somebody dared laugh at your gift of voice, that classmate was sent home at 10 a.m. by the teacher for fear of you dismembering him.
Now you’re all grown up and with better skin. You are now a licensed engineer, and you help mold the country’s youth into people who know math. Happy birthday, and continue to go to the gym but please for the love of God, stop buying pink shirts.
(Cute noh??) ¶ 1:26 AM 3 comments
