I close my eyes and think through my nose: what can I breathe in so I may feel better after living the longest day of my life?

Who am I fooling when I say that I shall stop to smell the flowers? Flowers to me are more pleasing to the eyes than taking them into my nostrils. But if my nose alone could sense comfort out of the things that surround me, I shall take a pause, a deep breath, and be comforted by three scents: the scent of a newborn baby, the scent of fresh raindrops, and the scent of early morning coffee.

The scent of a newborn baby…ah! Addictive like drug-the kind that takes you to the clouds and liberates you from the thoughts that darken your skies. Always sweet like powder, always fragrant like clean laundry. I am soothed by the reminiscence of the going through labor pains, enduring child birth and sustaining motherhood. Taking in the scent of a newborn baby is like taking in new life as well; it revives me. That to me is comforting.

The scent of fresh raindrops, and even the ones that have dried on the pavement, petrichor they call it, gives me a stir and takes me back to summers years back when rain was unexpected but once it had fallen, it had given me memories to cherish like dancing in the rain with a summer fling, getting soaked with chums, and writing poems with head resting on the window with the wet world in sight. Taking in petrichor gives me more than just memories of summer-it gives me hope for a fresh start, an anticipation for a rainbow, a desire for solitude. That to me is comforting.

The scent of early morning coffee, the one thing I always look forward to. Starting a day with a cup of latte is giving myself an opportunity to  breathe in lifeblood. The scent of coffee prepares me for the day ahead. As I breathe it in, I am reminded of how special I am as a person and how grateful I am to have sustained the life I am living. The scent of coffee reminds me how blessed I am to have woken up to a new day, and pushes me to keep breathing no matter what. That to me is comforting.


And whenever I think through my nose, I realize, it is only then that I understand what my life is all about.

From the yeasty warmth of freshly baked bread to the clean, summery haze of lavender flowers, we all have favorite smells we find particularly comforting. What’s yours?



Confessions of a Pro: “If It’s That Important…”

Sad but true, “I put the PRO in procrastination.”

Procrastination for me is like coffee-I can’t last a day without it.

But apart from procrastination as a metaphor to my caffeine dependence, I guess I have grown immune to putting off urgent matters for later, and by immunity I mean, I have managed to minimize the casualties that normally surface out from non-productivity.

The reason for this is the kind of procrastination I do: I put off urgent maters for later, and work on matters that won’t matter until later. So, I end up completing tasks that aren’t needed yet, which is quite impressive, but neglect the tasks that everyone else is waiting to be done (but get them done anyway, just in time for the tasks to be done).

Through it all, it’s not as if I haven’t accomplished anything actually. I do accomplish a lot, only that they are not the priority stuff. A classic example would be, I am supposed to be grading student essays so that I could finish up their marks for the first quarter, but then, I found myself ‘googling’ for to die for classroom activities for the next quarter’s lesson. Or, I should be writing my thesis so I can finish my Master’s Degree, but here I am trying to revive my muse through writing blogs.

Basically, this where I am at: I AM LATER DWELLER. My procrastination takes me to later where now is yet insignificant.

And as I work aimlessly (no deadline in mind, no immediate feedback required) for tasks in the future tense, I take pleasure in the comfort of either a book, a pin, a tweet, a post, a blog or a back hug from a Korean T.V. Series, to convince myself that hey! “If it’s that important, it will still be important tomorrow.” Take it from the Pro. 🙂


We all procrastinate. Website, magazine, knitting project, TV show, something else — what’s your favorite procrastination destination?


Dinner Sunny Side Up

Sunny is a character from a Korean TV series dubbed in the local language. She is an interesting woman who has been cursed/blessed with the ability to talk to ghosts. If I were to be like her for one evening and arrange a dinner party for 4-8 guests who are my picked VIPs, dead or alive, I will summon and sit down with three noble ghosts and one object of my fan girl fantasies.

1. Confucius

Such a great man. How can all the wisdom in the world be squeezed into one great man? Our conversation might be like how his Analects have inspired me and how in another way he means by his nuggets of wisdom. I would ask him from where he gathers his bits of wisdom and how he feels that many people apply them throughout the course of their lives. I might want to exchange insights with him about three quotes I admire him for the most:

Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence then in is not an act but a habit.

Choose a job that you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.

2. Edgar Allan Poe

My favorite American writer. His stories of horror and grim love poems have got me spellbound ever since. He reminds me so much of my father who works best when intoxicated. At dinner, I am going to serve him the best brandy and see for myself how he transforms from sane to sober. Then, I would ask him the true cause of his death and I would wish to confirm if it was truly because of heartbreak or of being broke. I would let him listen to The Script’s “The Man Who Can’t Be Moved” and we shall exchange perspectives behind the conventional phrases in the song. I would also ask him to explain his true ideas and emotions behind Annabel Lee, which is really a tragic poem. I also would ask him which among his horror stories would he be willing to be given a silver screen version if the actor were Channing Tatum (who will also be among my dinner party’s guests).

3. William Shakespeare

The best poet ever! I have read through sonnets by sonnets and have tried deciphering the shades of meaning behind them but I would wish to ask from Shakespeare himself if we have been interpreting his poems correctly, or perhaps, we have just given his poems depth of thought but he would simply shrug and say: “your guess is as good as mine.” How many girls have he dated? How many hearts have been broken by him? How many times has his heart got broken? Is he gay? Is he really whom we thought he is? Or the rumors are true that he never existed at all and all we knew about a man by the name of William Shakespeare is similar to the the anonymous author of Beowulf or the doubtful existence of a true Homer? Well if I see him at the dinner table, I would have dust off all doubts and just talk about poetry.

4. Channing Tatum

Even a mom of three married for almost a decade would drool over his manliness! Since “She’s The Man,” I have had taken interest into the growth of his characters as actor (more than his abs) and my fascination with him has no pornographic kind of desire. Yes he has a great body, smooth dancing moves, captivating smile, perhaps fragrant being, but there is more to him that I want to know that those earthly, shallow, vain and lustful reasons. I want to talk with him about his road to stardom, what he had to go through and endure, how experiences have shaped him into the most desirable man he is right now. I want to talk with him about his thoughts on relationships, how he grows more and more in love with his wife (though it breaks my heart a bit) and how he intends to raise his kid, his perspectives on parenting and all that stuff.

With just Channing and I as the two persons alive at the dinner table, I am just hoping he doesn’t get scared or something with the ghosts of literary geniuses dining with us, but should he be, well, I have my arms wide open for him. I would not mind cuddling. Just teasing.


Dinner is served.

Divergent Laughter

When was the last time I had a laugh like no other? A laugh that is mockingly amusing? A laugh that is sarcastically delightful? A laugh that is painfully exciting? A laugh that is memorably humiliating?


We might have dressed up with the shades of factions from the Divergent book when we watched the movie version that day, but that would not be the funny part.

The cause of our joy was having an honest-to-goodness non-reader non-fangirl friend (who was dressed up as Candor) sit in between us two frankly insane bookworm fangirls, and listen to her make hilarious comments of the turn of events which we, the latter, already knew of because we have read the book. There had been several episodes of shock, amusement, ridicule, ignorance and awe coming from every careless but honest remarks she made about the characters, the scenes and the what if’s and could-have-been’s she had in mind out loud.

To add sparks to the outburst, she even lost her very important pouch (with her cellphone and cash in it) in the movie house and realized she did when we were already ready for the ride home. We had to appear like Dauntless transfers as we rushed back to the movie house, called out for the guards and searched for the missing pouch.

I never felt so breathless that day. All thanks to our Candor girl.

Sky is the Limit: Rooftop Fantasies

Half my life I’ve been in trouble with roofs. But I think I could live on a rooftop. As long as I could share coffee, stories and moments, under the sun and rain, with real people and people I truly love, I think one huge blanket of clouds at day and stars at night, would be fine.#dreamingofheaven — at Home- In my room- On my bed.

(from my Facebook post, June 2)


By some wonders of fate, a rustic mansion might be given to me, and I would have all the money in the world to turn the ruins into a heaven on earth. Grand! Then it would definitely be a mansion reconstructed into a solitary rooftop with benches, hammocks, sofas, coffee tables, bean bags and swings for everyone to sit on over free-flowing coffee, limitless conversations and the music of One Republic, day in and day out.

Make my dream come true please…

Do Not Return to Sender

“I feel the same way. ” Love, Kate

“See you at the cathedral steps.” Love, Kate

“Bring my friend back. The old Acey who is always laughing and opening up. I miss her.” Hurting, Kate

“How is your seatmate doing? Does he still look cute? Tell him I said hi. P.S. My seatmate also looks good today. Do I say hi for you too?” Always, Kate the Great


I have a bag full of letters and stick-on notes from Kate. I haven’t thrown a single sheet ever, and it has been 15 years ago when we started exchanging messages way back Freshmen year in high school.

She is one great person (apart from my father) who woke up my muse and motivated me to spill my thoughts on ink. She edited my work, introduced smart phrases for me to use and even put a smiley on her favorites among my works.

We exchanged short notes about the littlest interesting highlights of our day, the one-minute heaven with our crush, the creeps and annoyance from random people, and just about anything that are not even pertinent to share. We also wrote each other long letters and I remembered her calling one of mine as “Acey’s Chronicles.” In our long letters, we pour out our frustrations in life, questions to God, juvenile emotions and heartaches towards each other.

She was my high school best friend. She will always be my one great friend. Best friends forever.

I have considered growing up and putting away dust-gatherers from my place for a number of times, together with high school workbooks and college notes and stuff, but I ended up reading again letters from Kate and packing them in another box or bag until the time I would have to clean up closets again…

Kate died after battling with cancer some ten years ago. There are still times when I wished a single note from her would be posted on the door like she always did before. A note from Kate might perhaps help me get through a horrible Monday, or tame me from a wrestle with deadlines, or delight me a midst parenting woes. But now letters are all I have-each a story to inspire and a friendly advice to heed, for the rest of my life with her simply looking down on me from the skies…


I miss you, Kate.