thoughts while stuck in a meeting


szleehpier still

i believe there must be a reason for my being in this spot…

so that would be my mission for today,

to discover just what i’m supposed to be doing here.

but i keep nodding off

so maybe the answer will come in a dream?

bees a-buzzing, making sounds that make no sense to me.

they all seem to be understanding each other

so i’m clearly the odd one.

thank heavens for wordpress,

making me feel like i’m not entiiirely wasting my time

(not that i’m claiming these random lines have any benefit for anyone)…

free-writing this is, indeed.

five minutes did pass, just like that

and, now, i need to nod and smile and pretend i’m still in this meeting.

mission not accomplished, at least not yet.

i have five long hours yet.

Make-Up Quiz

I rushed into the classroom with a couple dozen other students, took the left-corner seat at the back and pushed the chair against the wall. Then I pulled up my pen and paper, ready for the exam. Strangely, when I settled in my place it occurred to me to wonder what the exam would be on. It took all of three seconds for me to remember: this was going to be the make-up quiz for the one we all flunked last week! AND I had not had a chance to glance at my notes again!

I checked the time, four minutes until the start of the quiz. I started panicking as I opened my laptop, desperately looking for my notes. As I did this the door opened, and in came my teacher, declaring the quiz was about the commence. I knew I had a couple of minutes left so I ran as fast as I could past her, straight to the door with my laptop. It’s not time yet, I can go back in a few minutes late, I’d rather be late than start without even the quickest review of my notes!

I found a long table right outside the classroom. As I reopened my laptop a bugle sounded loudly.

I woke up, heart beating hard and fast. I was in bed. The bugle was screaming into my head. My head hurt like crazy.

Apparently I was really, really afraid of this make-up quiz we’re having in my Statistics class next week. Oh my goodness.

Note: This actually happened this morning. My head is still killing me.

I quite missed this.

Did I not have a story to tell for more than a year?

On the contrary, I had story upon story, idea upon idea, inspiring encounters, light bulb moments…but life was going so fast that I failed taking enough of those pauses that I had committed to at the beginning of last year.

Of course, that’s a mere excuse. Truth is, I could have made a decision to sit down and write for FIVE MINUTES everyday. Which I am making now, finally, thanks to the virtual push from the Five Minute Friday project called 31 Days of Five-Minute Free Writes.


Lemme see how the prompts will help me flex my writing muscles again. It will probably be like deciding to walk around the block again every morning after more than a year of not running.

See, my five minutes are up, and this is all I have to show for it! Hah. So it goes.


My niece Lee could not even talk yet the last time I saw her, two years ago. After picking me up at the airport, her dad drives to her playschool where she’s in the middle of “nap time.” He speaks to her teacher and goes into her classroom, carries her out, and has her half-closed eyes meet my face. “This is your Tita Pia,” he says. Within five minutes we are playing, she is hugging me and calling me her best friend, and I am in heaven.


It was my constant failure: Committing to put cookies in my bag so I would always have something for children begging in the streets, yet hardly ever actually doing it. So there I was, stopped at an intersection, and once again a boy knocks on my window. I could only mouth, “Sorry, wala” and avoid his pleading eyes. The light turned green and I drove off, heart heavy, knowing that I could have given, done so much. “Next time,” I muttered, but I myself felt the hollowness of my words.


I watched as she scanned her legs with hunched brows, seeming to study every inch and pore, caressing one and then the other, ignoring me and the ocean before us.

“Are you looking for something there?” I stopped mid-chuckle when she met my eyes and I saw the seriousness in hers.

“I had stripes, diagonal lines, about a dozen of them, right…here, I think?” and with her left forefinger she drew on her right shin. “I can’t believe I’ve lost them. I’m not even a hundred percent sure now that it was on this leg.”

She continued to tell me how she got those now-begone scars: She was eight, she tripped while running and her shin rammed against the pavement, scraping the skin in such as manner that she ended up with a dozen stripes.

“The worst part was when I got home. Did I mention I was playing with my childhood crush? Oh my goodness. I was with this boy, this neighbor that I really liked, and he accompanied me home after that mishap. And, good heavens, he had to watch as my mom, who had no mercy on me, treated my leg with alcohol, and I bawled like a cow being electrocuted!”

“Oh, poor thing!” I exclaimed, though we were both laughing then. I was trying to form a picture of the weeping eight-year-old version of her in my head.

“I liked those scars, you know?” she said. “Looking at them always reminded me of that story, brought me back to happy days. I mean, that moment was actually terrible, but those days, that summer, I remember quite well how I was just…happy. I mean, to be a child, you know what I mean, right? Wouldn’t you give anything to go back in time?”

“Nah, I didn’t have you back then.”

“Aww.” She rolled her eyes and made a gagging sound, and I knew that was as far as I could go. That is, until the next opportunity comes.


A possible snippet for my WIP 🙂