Today: International Toot Your Flute Day!

All ye green-minded citizens of the universe! I know what you are thinking and that’s not what today means. Lol!

Taking it literally . . .

I’ve tried my hand in learning how to play the flute when I was young.

“Damn you, Pied Piper!” (He made it look so easy. But it wasn’t! No wonder it’s a fairy tale.)

In short, it never did catch on. I sounded like a broken weed that had been trampled, beaten down by monsoon and forgotten next to a riverbank. Besides, my cheeks and lips ached every time I attempted to practice, not to include the torture my siblings and folks might have suffered because of it.

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Nerd-letons In The Closet

Yes. I am a nerd. So what?

I am not alone in this world. I am just one of those who had that proverbial closet shut tight for eons because of peer pressure. It is hard to get by in school when you don’t have the “it-girl” persona in place or hanging out with the cool kids. The only time you get to open that closet is at home, in your lonesome little room littered with posters of Star Wars and Robotech gracing the stark white painted walls.


The reason behind hiding what people deemed now as “ordinary” before was the fear of being labeled as a freak.  Because of the changing perception of people and the influence of billionaire software developers and social media moguls, being termed a “nerd” is actually a compliment.

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Ugly Verbal Bruises

Just like any other ordinary person, I had my fair share of ups and downs – both in my career and my personal life.

The experiences that really affected me and in turn mold me to what I am right now were the negative ones. Maybe it’s human nature to remember the heartaches more than the joys. Maybe it’s human nature that made me believe of bettering myself to prove those people, who have thrown hateful words at me, wrong.

“Be careful what you say in anger or spite because the verbal bruises do not heal that fast and can sometimes leave an indelible mark.”

I blame people’s inability to empathize.

I blame people’s ability to be insensitive.

I blame people’s inability to discipline their wayward tongues and inflict wounds that can never be healed by Betadine and antibiotic ointments.

The ugly verbal bruises and/or wounds that will forever linger as long as we don’t resolve it within ourselves debilitates our capacity to function well with the company of other people. There’s always the self-doubt. There are always the questions . . .

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The Shush Effect

Ever been in a situation where you are stuck in a three-hour bus trip with four or five loud women (possibly in their twenties or early thirties), giggling like freakin’ schoolgirls while they talk (or brag) about nonsensical stuff like how many men they met on the beach and asked for their digits?

I have a distinct feeling that they’re still high on whatever accompanied their tequila bodyshots that made them sell glimpses of their bosoms and booties to those men who asked for their digits. Anyway, I digress.

Is it a sign of aging when I say that I was annoyed enough to give them several stink-eyes and dealt them with my face-melting “Shush!” after the number of failed attempt of sending sinister looks their way?

Yes . . . I am that grumpy extra passenger in the middle of the bus with my earbuds on to dilute the silly chitchat happening around me and lose myself to the soothing rockin’ beats of The Chemical Brothers and Nine Inch Nails.

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