I saw this on my Facebook newsfeed today: 

Funny how Netflix can make it seem like a charming, cutesie, and heart-warming childhood movie...

Then completely destroy you without warning.

It happened to me too. It was 1998 when my parents started bringing me to Video City or ACA Video to rent out movies we can watch over the weekend. I remember dawdling from one aisle to another, scanning the shelves with movies I've never heard of, paying attention particularly to the covers and interesting tag lines. I lingered a lot more around the horror/thriller, adventure, and comedy sections. And then one time, there, on the comedy shelf, My Girl caught my eye.

On the front cover it read: "A funny and moving family film". I picked the empty VHS tape case up, flipped it over, and read the plot summary. It seemed cute and charming. You know, first love, first kisses and all. Maybe a little bittersweet. But hey, it's a comedy. What could go wrong? There's nothing like picking out a feel-good movie to take home on a Friday night, right? Damn, I miss those times.

It was funny, alright. But I suppose they have placed it on the wrong shelf. The shocking plot twist caught me off guard and it hit me hard. Emotionally damaging kind of hard. It was like Artax sinking in the swamp all over again.

It did nothing to my tear ducts though, if that's what you're thinking. No movie has ever made me cry—not even Old Yeller, Where the Red Fern Grows, or Marley & Me (I also have the books of the last two). And it's not like I'm holding back my tears nor I am that soulless. I do cry. But my tears are reserved only for serious matters like finding out I forgot to push the "cook" button on the rice cooker an hour after I left it and everybody is already starving. 😂

Anyway, these video rental shops stopped existing ages ago but the internet made it possible to watch the classics once more. However, I could not bring myself to watch My Girl again. Especially now that I'm an adult. Such emotional scenes don't get me anymore. I would most likely just notice inconsistencies and illogical movie scenes, and ruin the whole experience like what I did with most movies. Hachi: A Dog's Tale, for example.

If I may digress slightly.

Hachiko, sure is deemed one of the saddest movies. Watching it did make me sad. But probably not for the same reason you have. What bothers me is that he was "set free" or more likely abandoned to his grief by his family shortly after the "main" master dies and they let him live ten monotonous years. No loving, responsible pet owner, especially one that was owned by an important family member would do that. I was sad, and only because I don't think Mr. Wilson will be happy to see how his dog lived terribly right after his death, enduring harsh weather conditions and living off scraps from strangers. I can make a whole blog post about this. LOL. 

While most of us romanticized the dog's devotion and loyalty, I think the filmmakers could have done better than inadvertently portray the family as dog-abandoning jerks. I had to read up on what really happened because I was disappointed with the movie-logic. At least, the reality is less merciless. There was a more sensible reason why he can't be kept by the surviving wife. The real Hachi who waited daily at the station, although bullied and mistreated by some passers-by, actually had a place to come home to. He lived a short distance from the station with his previous owner's former gardener. 

And that is why I'd rather not watch these sad, emotional movies as an adult, I easily spot things that don't make sense.

Outside Shibuya train station in Japan.

Anyway, let's get back to the topic.

Needless to say, My Girl has left a lasting impact on me that I could say it's still one of my favorite movies. As a matter of fact, more than a year ago, I created a small part of my island in Animal Crossing dedicated to this movie.

There was the tree, the dock, and the lake. And now there is booze.

I grew up in an era where the concept of Wishlist does not exist. In those days, whenever there is an "exchange gifts" during Christmas parties, the giver carries the burden of gift-giving—one that I carried ever since I started high school.

Of course, the whole world has to know.

Because I feel like a domestic goddess after doing such feat.

And just in case it doesn't happen again.

I don't know if there's a household chore more tedious than folding clothes. I would have seizures just thinking about it. Plus, it requires dexterity and a higher degree of patience to perform such simple task—and unfortunately, I do not possess the latter.

I have found ways to avoid folding though:

1. Cut our wardrobe into a week's worth of laundry and wear the same thing over and over again;
2. Not wear clothes at all;
3. Buy a new set of clothes every time.

But of course, there are practical and more acceptable albeit lazy ways to do it too:

1. If it doesn't rain, we leave the fresh laundries on the clothesline until we use them again;
2. Dump them into a tidy pile on a couch or a crib and pray they magically fold themselves overnight pluck whatever clothes we need to wear from the respective heap until all clothes are gone. Repeat.
3. Use hangers on ALL our garments (including the pambahays) so that we could just stuff it right into the closet without the need to fold it;
4. Hire someone else to do it.

We usually do numbers 2 and 3.

But today, I bravely took out all unfolded clothes in our closet that probably have little house elves living in it. Who knows? The clothes have never seen the daylight ever since they started to become too snug for my swelling tummy two years ago. 

Imagine my delight to find few favorites I have not seen in quite a long time and see some of them fit me again, then the horror knowing how severely wrinkled they have become that I am bound to do another deplorable chore: ironing.

But at least, no creatures were found in it. 

And the clothes have been folded. 

For now. 

Because once I need to go out and try these garments on one by one when I'm having a hard time deciding what clothes to wear for that day only to end up with a plain white tee and a pair of jeans that has been used for the nth time, I'm pretty sure those unselected pieces of clothing will be thrown back into the closet in their unsightly and unfolded state. Whew! That was a long statement but to make it short: it's going to take another year or two to get those clothes folded again. 

Or not.

Yes, I can neatly FOLD FITTED SHEETS now! They say that only monsters can do that. 😆

I thought I would have a long, uninterrupted sleep last night because for the first time in almost two years, I let our toddler sleep with my mom. 

But that much needed rest never happened. I was so uncomfortable with this belly that could pop anytime, the perpetual back pain, the need to pee every fifteen minutes, and the unbearable heat.

Us exactly. Image via Pinterest.

I often find myself reminiscing about the old days.

Those days when we get to eat out and go on spontaneous road trips every week. The time when we don't celebrate special occasions over food deliveries. The time when we conveniently fake fever to have an excuse for skipping work. Or those days when I can just hug and kiss my husband every time he comes home. Sigh.

I can't believe the Pre-covid Era was already 400 years ago.

A lot of things evolved since then—including my tolerance for things that make me cringe. Of course, when you are isolated, it's no longer a surprise how one soul can be engulfed into this strangely gratifying dark side of the internet even if it offers a ton of cringefest. 

Apparently, my time for the internet ballooned and this is how I see social media platforms in 2021:

Facebook: A place for everything. News, memes, marketplace, motivational quotes, horoscope that justify toxic behavior, flexing, and so on. But best of all, it brings out the inner Aling Marites in me. It is a place for parinigs to good-for-nothing spouses, keeping tabs of your friends' love lives (from dating to breakup), and for calling out cheating partners, kabits, and palautangs. Trust me, it has all the drama you will ever need.  

Instagram: For flexing, flexing, and did I say flexing?

Twitter: I don't use this app but I would visit it once in a while when an issue—mostly political—goes trending. If you are easily-offended or like to bath in toxicity, this platform's perfect for you.

YouTube: Our torture chamber. This is where Jan and I listen to songs that get perpetually stuck in our heads such as, "I like to ate ate ate ay-ples and ba-nay-nays." We also binge-watch mouthwatering vlogs of Mark Wiens, Mike Chen, Sonny Side, and anyone who travels for food that leave us hungry afterwards. Other than that, it has a lot of tutorials, parodies, conspiracies, gaming streams, and screaming goats that you would probably enjoy. Or not.

TikTok: I have installed this when it exploded during the height of corona. But I only got to use it a few days ago—only to have it uninstalled a few hours later. I have seen some creative videos that I did enjoy. But I would say it's a platform mostly for people who want a brief shot at fame, doing dumb and stupid challenges for the likes, and letting out the inner slut. It's just sad to see content creators (real talented ones) who don't get the recognition they deserve here.

I do not know how many times I have said this before, but I really wish this pandemic is over. I'd really like to get out and take a breather. It's only a matter of time before you see me upload those heavily-filtered selfie videos just so I can validate my self-worth because I am running out of valuable content to share. 

Hahahahaha. Syet.

Also, those surgical face masks don't really fit me well. (T⌓T)

I might need a kiddie mask.

I was mindlessly scrolling Facebook, when this appeared on my feed:

Doesn't it creep you out when Facebook is making weird and sometimes disturbing assumptions about you? It's as if Facebook is telling me, "Hey, here's some beautiful shit we thought you would like."

Two things.

One. I am addicted to rolled oats soaked in plain Greek yogurt and cinnamon.

I prepared one for the bunso but he doesn't seem to show interest in it. It was so good that I had to ask the husband to buy more for my own consumption. Whatever I eat, the baby eats anyway. 

Two. I am on a diet.

And by that I mean, I am eating three times more than the usual serving and added two more meals in between the five meals I have in a day. This breastfeeding journey is making me lose weight but I don't want to lose weight. You know how many friends envy me for being blessed by the seven gods because I can eat whatever I want and still not worry about putting a pair of pants one size up? What they do not know is that I envy them. My metabolism rivals the speed of light. It is a curse.

Earlier today, I asked Jan to take my photo for a Birch Tree promotion. But more than a hundred photos later, not one is good enough for posting. Okay, I lie. It ONLY took 30 shots. 

Thirty. Shots. That's a lot. Dati, 5 shots lang, okay na. May ma-ipost na. But now? All you can hear from me is, "Payata nako diri ui","Eeew payat", "Ugh, payatot kaayo ko tan-awon". 

8 months postpartum. 5'3" at 47kg. Meh 😑I want to be STRONG and fit, not magaan.

I give up fitness. I am thinking of ways on how to hit the fridge without moving a muscle. I now count calories and make sure that I don't burn any.  

P.S. Cerelac Nutripuffs is so damn good. I should stop eating my son's food.

Sometimes, I amaze myself with my adulting, considering that my hormones are still on overdrive. You see, I have written a complaint—after making countless of calls and follow-ups on not having an internet connection for almost two months—in the most diplomatic way. For someone whose life depends heavily on memes and cat videos, I would have gone batshit. (Who wouldn't?) 

But there are far more upsetting things than that. Like how the baby can sleep through a thunderstorm but awakens the moment I tiptoe my way out of the room or the husband's utterly useless nipples.

Also, I am too tired to give a crap.

But I will. When the internet will not be fixed this week as promised. Until then, all feelings of resentment will be directed toward the husband.

Welcome to my new normal.

7:00 am. As much as I want to sleep in during weekend, my body refuses to wake up at the alarm that is set at 8. I automatically open Facebook and aimlessly scroll through the posts. As it inevitably explodes with posts from political analyst wannabes, I am starting to think that the outdoors I avoided like plague isn't all that bad. I suddenly miss driving though the traffic and mentally cursing idiots on the road, crowded malls, and long queues in public comfort rooms.

9:00 am. I have my breakfast. Mostly leftovers or something I don't really like eating for breakfast. Like a bowl of hot soup in the middle of a heatwave. But I force myself to eat. I can't be choosy at a time like this.

7:30 pm. And just like that, it's dinner time already.

It may seem like time is running fast but honestly, I am extremely bored with every minute that passes. I have been lazy my whole life. I have always believed that my lazy ass loves nothing more than lounging while watching my favorite series and getting up only when food is ready. But that was a lie. I already thought about a hundred non-work-related ways to be productive but when resources are limited and there's literally nothing else left to do, I find myself answering emoji quizzes, reacting to every cat video and funny meme I see on Facebook, listening to You Know I'll Go Get (that song makes me happy btw), and randomly giving Rhett a horrible haircut.

Yay! I'm 200 Pesos richer!

Yes, these have proven effective in distracting me from the horror the world is going through right now. I will be quitting my job soon. So that means everyday is going to be a weekend for me. Not to mention, being halfway through pregnancy limits the physical activities I can do at home. I really appreciate that these distractions keep on coming or else I might find myself separating the ingredients in a 3-in-1 coffee.

And oh, before I forget...

12:00 mn. Snacking on whatever I can find in the kitchen.