Taking Things for Granted

Hello, you. It’s been a while.

You must be surprised why I’m writing this now. Why now? Why only now?

To be perfectly honest, since I left, many years ago, there had been moments when I look back and suddenly wonder how you are doing. Right out of the blue. I just shrink back into my own Mind Palace, and wonder.

I want to begin with saying that I have many regrets for what I have done to you and to our friendship, and that, knowing you, you deserve absolutely none of it. You are a kind person. As a matter of fact, I’ve yet to meet another person who is as genuinely good and undeniably selfless as I’ve known you to be. But as wonderful of a person as you are, after all that has transpired,  I suppose, we can never be more than friends. And unfortunately for me, the stupid, slow-thinking, selfish, sick-minded, and mentally unstable me, I kind of, sort of made sure, that can’t happen either. Not anymore.

Why am I writing this again? I’ve always wondered how I could get my thoughts across without being an uncomfortable presence in your seemingly happy life. Seemingly, I emphasize, since I’ve never bothered asking common friends how you are doing. And just today, completely out of the blue, I saw you on a friend’s Friends List on social media, and naturally, I clicked on your name and looked up your news feed.

Yeah, you do look pretty happy to me. I’m glad.

So maybe, I said to myself minutes later, I could write you an apology letter now. With all the happiness you’ve currently surrounded yourself with, not a single bad juju with my name and face on it would be horrible enough to ruin your life.

I tend to deviate from my main purpose whenever I write. This is one of the reasons why I consider myself to be an awful technical writer. I could write a song about this, I think. You know what, I might actually write a song about this later. Doesn’t seem to be a bad idea, does it?

So, back to deviating, I’m going to put together everything that I want to say in a maximum of five bullet points. Five, because I don’t want to feel that I have to say more. Anything beyond five are probably not that important anyway. So I have to do my best in picking only the best ones.

First. I’m sorry. I was too much of an asshole to say it then. I thought that maybe if I just disappear, everything will fall back into place and will return to normalcy with time. I couldn’t break us off, because I saw how happy you were whenever we were together, and I honestly didn’t want to be the dick who hurts you… which I still managed to do in the end, by the way. So, I’m sorry. For leaving without a word, for chickening out and having no courage to say that I don’t want to be in that relationship anymore. I’m sorry for even encouraging the idea of us dating. That is one of my biggest regrets. Had I been smarter then, I would have preferred us to just stay friends. You are a great friend. And I kind of miss hanging out with you. We had a lot of things in common, or maybe I’m the only one, but I genuinely do think that. I have a soft spot for your folks, too, so disappointing them was one of the reasons why I couldn’t officially break it off. They’re great people, and it’s nice to know they worked hard to raise a decent person, that you are. And I don’t deserve to be in a circle of good people. Especially not during that time when I was rash, careless, and horribly carefree. I’ve always had this thing where, no matter what I do, when people whom I care about have high expectations of me are involved, I dread the idea of shaming them, letting them down or disappointing them. I can feel a stomach ache developing as an image of you explaining to your folks why we’re no longer hanging out is being conjured up by my rebellious occipital lobe. I’m not sure if you still tried to put in a good word for me or not, but I hope you said horrible things that made them think I’m the most vile person in the world. I wouldn’t have liked that. But, go on. I deserve it.

Second. I don’t remember seeing someone else while I was with you. But I do remember seeing someone immediately after I decided to disappear. Perhaps I did this subconsciously to make things even between us: Me leaving, hurting you in the process, and me seeking an abusive relationship as my punishment. People often tell me I’m a smart girl, but, dang, they’re wrong. And what I got myself into back then was textbook case of “biting off more than one can chew” scenario. I’m just glad I got pulled out of that shit hole of a place, and I’m grateful that I still have the same person on my side, enduring my endless quirks and neuroses.

I doubt this has any significance to you anymore. My current partner would always say that I always think about no one else but myself, so I suppose this little prose here is a clear manifestation of just that. Again, I’m sorry.

Third. I didn’t have to write to you. If I had been thinking about anything other than myself and my own benefit, I wouldn’t have created this post in the first place. There was no need to write an apology letter for a fault committed several years ago. But I just had to find out if I am the only one who still feels or thinks this way. It must be the guilt, or maybe I’m simply asking, begging, waiting for something to happen.

But I will not ask, nor beg, not wait. For


Wacom Cintiq 13HD

I am thankful for this new Wacom Cintiq 13HD which I got for work. I’m trying to get used to the feeling of the device’s screen underneath my palm and the sensitivity of the pen in my fingers. For someone who has never used a wacom system before, I anticipate a tough learning curve, but it seems, as I finished my first sketch with Photoshop CC 2017, the experience with the device is as close as drawing with pencil and paper on a diagonal book stand.

The Ancient Cintiq vs the new iPad Pro
People are used to the concept that the more expensive the gadget is, the better the functionality and usability. This is obviously does not apply to this scenario. The 5+ year old Cintiq works better than the 2016 iPad Pro on Duet Display when drawing with Photoshop CC. The Wacom Pen does not glide over the Cintiq display as smoothly as the Apple Pencil does on the iPad Pro. Thanks to the specially-made Cintiq display, it almost feels like drawing on a special kind of paper, unlike the “plastic-over-glass” experience on iPad Pro.

The lack of a touch-responsive display doesn’t seem to be a major letdown, as a matter of fact. I programmed the wacom directional button to perform zoom in, out, undo and redo commands to make up for the lack of touch gestures, and so far, everything goes in perfect sync with my usual workflow.

My only complaint is the device’s compatibility mismatch with some software. Clip Studio Paint doesn’t work very well with this, though I might just need to reinstall this or update drivers, or something. But it didn’t work right off the bat, unlike Photoshop which launched smoothly with no lags or bugs right off the bat.

First of Many
The featured image for this post, as you can see, is drawn using the Cintiq. I see no reason to upgrade to the latest Pro models at this time, though I’ve not tried the newer ones before. I gave this sketch the title “First of Many” since I’m currently focused on getting used to drawing with this device in order to improve.

Sorry if my writing is not good at this time. For some reason, I can’t seem to string decent words and phrases together like how I used to. I may be out of practice. Must write more soon.



Writing Challenge: DAY 1

From where I am sitting in this spacious office hall, I can see the heavy, gray clouds hovering low over the ground below. Despite the air conditioning, I can somehow smell and feel the cold, wet air blowing outside. And while I stare at the darkening skies, I already feel the heavy, billowing bundle of dread building in my chest.

I hate the rain.

I can no longer recall what started this consistent mood swing. It sets in almost immediately whenever the sky switches into its signature grayish dress, even minutes to hours before the actual downpour. It even manages to evolve and become a much larger, heavier rush of misery with absolutely no traceable source or origin.

Take a puff of smoke. And release.

Years ago, I wouldn’t even dream of holding this in between my fingers. I distinctly remember how my father used to smoke. And smoke, he did, a lot. It became one of the arms that pulled my mother’s leg each time. And back then, I couldn’t entirely understood why. My mother would rant for hours on end, but never in front of my father. For some reason, my siblings and I would be at the receiving end, as if we had some sort of influence over Father, that she sees it right and fitting to nag us about Father’s smoking. Funny thing is, she never actually confronted him about quitting, until my youngest sister came along. I never heard her say a word about it, though. It was like a moment of divine revelation on my Father’s part, that he, without word or warning, decided to go cold turkey. He didn’t even bother talking to Mother, or to us, his children, about his decision. But, out of all the things I’ve previously mentioned that I have, either, forgotten, or nearly forgotten, one thing was clear, and is still clear to me to this day– the weeks that followed were one of the worst weeks anyone had to spend in our small, dusty, dismal home.

So, when my Father found out that I’ve picked up smoking again, that was what he tried to remind me to convince me to quit while I’m ahead: the horrible experience of quitting.

Looking out the window from the 21st floor of the office building, I can see the thick fog and mist that settled over the city streets. For sure, it still is raining hard outside. I think of how I’ll manage to return to my apartment in this weather. I hate having to dip my shoes in puddles of clear, ice-cold water. I could try hopping over all puddles I come across with, but even if I manage to evade every single bit, I’d still get wet in the rain without an umbrella over my head to protect me.

I remember being in a building devoid of people. Red, or white, or brown walls, I can’t really tell which one, but I know it was empty, and silent. I remember sitting on the cold, smoothed-out cemented floor, with my back against an equally cold, and smoothed-out and cemented wall. I held on to my legs, pulled it as close to my chest as I possibly could, and stared onto an open field of mud and bits of grass submerged in collected rainfall. There was no thunder, nor lightning, but I remember that the rain was heavy and strong. Consistently strong, as a matter of fact. As every drop crashed from the roof to ground, droplets would separate and scatter into different directions, and some of it would get caught in my shoes, my socks, and my skirt. I remember how much I hated the feeling of damp shoes, damp socks and damp skirts against my cold skin, and how badly I wanted to get out of those clothes and into a set of fresh pajamas. My skirt smelled of partially-dried sweat and cheap, damp clothes, and it smelled so bad that I surprised even myself that I didn’t gag. But I stayed there for, who knows how long, and I no longer remember how that moment ended.

From stories of our childhood as told by my parents, that was the day my paternal aunt came to visit. My paternal grandparents had asked my Father a number of errands regarding her arrival and some others, and got him extremely busy running to and fro that he forgot about me.

Later in life, I’d have dreams of that moment, sometimes while awake, and other times, in sleep. It came to me so vaguely that for the longest time, I thought it was only a dream. The stories my parents would tell us, and other people later, though, confirmed that it was, indeed, a reality. Perhaps that is the reason why I get so stressed out when I’m left alone, especially in bad weather.

I read somewhere that acknowledging stress and trauma triggers will help a person recover from whatever it is that they experience during exposure to said triggers. But I wonder, after knowing all this, why do I still hate the rain so much?

In contemplation, I try to think of other reasons, and I see flashes of fragmented painful memories, or dreams, I can’t tell which. But having to sort all these out makes me feel even sadder.

I hate the rain.

To the 10-year-old Me.



Hello, Me,

Do not expect me to say that your dreams have come true. I’m not going to say it in any part of this letter. Even so, please do not fret. What I’m about to tell you may be far from what you have planned for yourself to happen in ten years time, but that the lessons, the experience, and the little joys in unexpected things, as your young, optimistic self believes, are still, and will always be, truly priceless and irreplaceable.

I want you to try and hold back those tears that, I can imagine, are starting to well up in those round, dark brown eyes of yours. Understand that we do not, cannot, and will not get anything and everything we want. Just keep reading and keep both your heart and your mind open.

I’m 28 now. But I’m not a lawyer, nor a veterinarian, a musician, nor a teacher. I’m not anything close to any of those at all. I’m an ordinary rank-and-file government employee whose career growth is as cloudy as the glass of water and oral re-hydration salt mixture which the adults have been forcing you you drink whenever you’re sick. And if you think that our health condition has improved through the years, I have to tell you now that it hasn’t. If it has changed at all, I must admit that it might even have worsened, because of the lifestyle that I was unable to avoid. Now, I’m at least twenty-five kilos heavier than how you weigh now. On the brighter side, however, I look healthier than my 21-year-old self: thin, cigarette-smoke-smelling, and food and sleep-deprived.

Even so, I still love to read, I have dog companions, I can play even more musical instruments now than you can, and I have written a few things and published some which I hope shared a good insight or two about something. We have never been that smart. I know people have been pushing you to exceed your limits, but you’ve always known how much of a simple, and normal girl you are — so much so, that your classmates notice you only when they’ve come up with new stuff to tease you about. Don’t stress yourself out after every lecture at the review center just because you can’t understand a thing while the rest of your classmates seem to be keeping up with each lesson with much ease.

So, about your career? I have nothing more to say. Even now, I’m still unsure as to where I’m going. But if there’s one thing I want you to share with you about school and career, do not rush things. Education and employment: neither of these two is a race. Take things slow if you must, but always finish what you started. These are words that I keep close to my mind even until now, and I have to say, these words help very much in keeping a positive perspective on things, even when it seems impossible.

Do what you can in the best way that you know. If your parents keep pushing you further, explain it to them. Don’t keep following orders like a trained dog even if you know you can’t (and you don’t want to) do it. Learn to say no when you feel like saying it, because here’s nothing wrong about expressing your feelings. I know you’re afraid your father will yell at you or hit you, but that’s not going to happen. Being unable to say “no” is the reason why you feel you’re always carrying a heavy load over your shoulders. Try it three times today and you’ll understand what I mean. Again, learn to say “no”.

And about your father, he’s all you’ve got. Do not think for one second that he is nothing to you, and do not try to replace him with someone else. I know that now, you find it easier to look at a certain someone as a decent father figure, but I have to warn you, no one can ever replace your immediate family. Whenever you and Dad get in an argument, remember that he’s reprimanding you because he is concerned about you, and only looking after you. It’s his duty to do so, and trust me, when you get older, you will appreciate all the things he’s done for you. I know Dad just doesn’t show it much, but he does care for you just like how your Mom and your siblings care for you. I will not go into detail; I do not want you to know the things that are about to happen before they happen — let me warn you that it will be very traumatic and painful– but you have to go through it in order to learn the most valuable lesson of all: there is no family in others, so don’t go looking for a replacement. Your Dad is no other than your Dad, your Mom is your Mom, and your siblings are your siblings. Stay with them, support them, and always be ready to lend a hand. There is nothing in this world that’s more important than family.

My life now is no different than yours; although, I must say that the number of people who dislike me seems to have been outnumbered by people who neither likes me nor dislikes me. Still, I have learned to be more confident about myself and my actions. There still are the occasional doubts and demons that hound us, but it’s nothing now that I cannot surpass after a few days, or weeks, of fighting. And about our tendency to feel small, uncertain and scared, I completely understand why you behave this way, and I still remember everything that happened to you when you were younger that made you doubt the whole world, but please believe me when I say to you that no one cares about what happened to you in the way that you would have liked. They will not be nice to you. They will not stop to ask you if you’re alright. Time will not wait even if you’ve been running as fast as you could, and gasping desperately for air as you try to get a sizable distance between yourself and whatever it is you’re running from. It will be extremely difficult, but you must teach yourself to accept whatever comes your way as quickly as you possibly can, no matter how horrible or depressing, so you can start working on healing, and eventually moving on.

Don’t try to be someone you’re not. It’s difficult to find a role-model, given the configuration of our family. We were raised in a way that we focus more on our own personal bubbles, and give very little mind to the external. Do you remember playing with friends and kid neighbors growing up? Of course, you don’t. Because we weren’t allowed to go outside. This probably is where our timid and eccentric nature came from, not that there’s anything wrong with being timid and eccentric, if that is indeed a natural aspect of our character. Don’t think of it as a weakness, or a flaw, but think of it as a challenge where we have to put in a bit more effort in meeting new people, or in enjoying a light conversation with people we meet for the first time. Just be careful not to go overboard, and force yourself into behaving or acting in ways you are not used to. Take a little step each time; open up to new people bit by bit, and try not to expect too much from them. Sometimes, even after giving it your all, people move away from us because, well, reasons. Don’t take it personally; perhaps the connection was too weak to form a solid relationship, but it’s enough that you tried. Don’t go any further. Move on to the next person. There always is a next one.

Three of your dogs died recently. It’s painful, and even until now, several days have already passed, I am still reeling from the loss. It’s hard to stop blaming myself for what happened, for my mistakes and my oversight which ultimately caused their untimely death. I try to remember them every day without crying just so I could honor their memories, but at the same time, I try to think that they’re just taking a vacation, and will come back home to us as soon as Meg gets pregnant again. I am hoping to see all three of them again soon, and once they arrive, I know I will be a better, smarter mum. So, keep a close watch over your pets. Dogs are our hearts’ cradle. They teach us love, empathy, responsibility, and money/time management. Don’t ever forget their vaccines. Not only is it your duty as their mum to keep their vaccines updated, but no vaccines mean no outdoor walks. And running outdoors with them is the best exercise and recreational activity in the world.

On matters of the heart, I don’t think I need to say any more, because everything that I can tell you, or teach you, you will learn on your own soon enough. Despite what happened to you when you were younger, understand that your heart remains pure, so don’t think less of yourself. That awful memory is just a memory now, and although it still triggers manic-depressive episodes for me every once in a while, I know that I am loved. I won’t give you a name of this person whom you will meet in the future, but trust me that when you meet him for the first time, you’ll know. Love all you want, but don’t ever think for a second that you deserve less than what you truly desire. Whatever the reason, don’t ever think that you’re small, or insignificant, because when you start thinking that, you’ll act as if you owe the world everything, and you’ll start taking whatever life gives you even when you don’t deserve it. You don’t owe anyone anything, so don’t go around thanking people when they pass on to you their leftovers and rejects.

Finally, don’t go doing things that you’ll end up regretting, because as you may know, we’re not very good with letting go. We hang on to every single mistake and embarrassment that we bring upon ourselves by own own hands. I try to live by this last lesson even to this day, because, among all the things I’ve told you to remember, this is the one thing that I still cannot completely satisfy. We’ve always been the “live in the moment” kind of person simply because we revel in the fun of being in the moment, but when the bill comes due, we scurry and cower in fear. But as dull and monotonous as life is, there still comes a time where I end up biting more than I can chew. I guess I’ll never learn.

So, that’s about it. In two years time, the day I turn 30, I’ll try to write a letter to my 50-year-old self for a change. I’m not sure if I’ll ever reach that age, but if I do, I’d like the 50-year-old me to read something which I didn’t get from my 10-year old self.

There’s a song which came out in the 2000’s which I’d like to leave with you: “Live high, live mighty, live righteously.“. And that’s all you need to do.

Love, always,
(or, trying to)



DILG Workstations Wallpaper

Initially requested by the ‘other division’ for our office computers at the central office… which never actually got to the office computer’s wallpapers.

Sadly, many people are all bark and no bite.

Powerpoint Cover DILG.png

Who is DILG ASEC Epimaco V. Densing, III?

The Office of Prof. Densing submitted this request sometime last January, and thanks to the cooperation of his staff, and Asec Densing himself, I was able to finish this in five days. Forget the sleepless nights and unbilled and countless hours of editing, rendering and exporting– working with someone as dedicated to true public service as Prof. Epi is truly an honor.

You may have been seeing and hearing his name in the news on TV and on the internet, but are you curious as to who he really is? Here’s the clip I created for him:

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