As a little girl, I’ve dreamed o f prince charmings sweeping you off your feet and happily ever afters; believed in knight in shining armors and in love conquering all. Oh yes, good ol’ Santa, too.

And then I grew up. Realized that prince charmings sweeping you off your feet, are indeed, dreams. Frogs pretending to be prince charmings are everywhere. Walt Disney and the Grimms brothers should be sued for feeding lies to little girls all over the world. And then you realized some more that knight in shining armors are just figment of little girls’ imagination. Up to this writing, I’m good I got over them. And one thing I’m happy about, I hate damsels in distress. They annoy the hell out of me. Its probably Disney and the Grimms brothers’ subtle way of stomping in women’s shoes. Very discriminating if you’d ask me. And clever!

I was eight, or nine when I found out that Santa Claus wears panties and cooks good food. I’ve noticed then that Mama’s handwriting was that of Santa and then my sister and I found out that they took us for a ride. Up to this day, I’ll never get why parents made their children believe that Santa Claus exists even if they could only use him during Christmas time.

At 21, I’ve learned that although lollipops and ice creams and chocolates are good picker uppers, they never really erase bad feelings; that as klutzy as I could be, I could deal more with skinned knees, paper cuts and Mama’s spanking than to lose sleep over some guy who doesn’t even care; that its easier to find the value of X in an Algebra exam than to answer someone’s question, “Have you been crying?”

At 21, I think, I’ve become a cynic. Always questioning, trying to rationalize everything, never believing. I’ve long stop believing in magics and fairytales. Everything has been Photoshopped, used SFX, manipulated by man. Now who could blame me? I’ve watched magicians share their secrets on TV, saw how a tool called “magic wand” could edit and beautify one’s photo, I’ve seen how people could be deceiving, its disgusting.

I’ve seen myself morphed into a nonbeliever. How every politician is but another greedy dog in my eyes; how I feel paranoid that an unfortunate looking person would any moment scream “Holdap to!”

As of this writing, I’ve been trying to locate that innocent little girl inside me. And you know what? I think I found a little piece of her today. That happily-ever-after-yearning-love-conquers-all-believing is still here. And it took one good great book about love to make her come out.

And if she would ever experience ‘a love so powerful it leaves you powerless in the process’ even just for a year, or eight months, or four days, or for even 36 fleeting minutes, just like in that story, then that would be enough to last her a lifetime. What’s that cliché again? Its better to love and lost than to have not love at all? Yep. That sounds about right. If you’d ask me, I’d probably say its like that of a shooting star. Its beautiful, spectacular, something even science can fully explain. But it’s there, and all that’s left to do is to savor its existence, and make a wish. Because, one moment its there, then its gone. Just. Like. That. And the sad part? Sometimes it happens once every lifetime. Not even.

Sheesh. Now I’m being cheesy. Don’t you think I’m starting to sound like a lovestruck puppy? Or a damsel perhaps? Damn.


Don’t you wonder why the word believe has the word LIE in between it? I do.