What Comes After the Blues

It’s 10 pm on a Wednesday night. Midweek lull before I need to really get started on the three board discussions that are waiting for me. 

The storm’s passed and it seemed like we finally got a break from the incessant downpour and gusty winds. I’ve got my trusty blanket and I’m in my favorite pj’s so all is good. Time to Netflix and chill.

I’ve watched One Tree Hill countless of times since I’m a sucker for teen angst and drama. But it’s the music that really drew me in to the show in the first place. And yes, I related to Peyton with her art and music, but in the end, when it comes to love and finally letting somebody in, I’ve always been a Brooke.

There’s this scene in the finale of the fifth season, when Lucas told Peyton that it was hard letting her go and it was hard seeing her again, and Peyton looked at him and said,

I’ve been having this dream lately, where Johnny and I were in the same room and finally talked. And everytime I was about to leave he always asked me, “Have I… have I broken this? Us?”

And every single time I say, “There was never an us.”


  • Music: Pictures of You by the Cure
  • Title from the same episode 05×18 of One Tree Hill 

    Something Ends, Something Begins

    2016 had been quite a year.

    It began with the quiet hope that all the heartaches and heartbreaks of the past year were left behind, and at the same time, the conviction that the coming year is going to be different.

    I decided to chase my dreams.

    I got accepted to the graduate program at A.T. Still University, and while the thought of actually going back to school both excited and terrified me, I knew it was the change that I needed. I was fumbling in the beginning of the semester but it was like riding a bike. I was soon back pedaling and racing down the street like I used to. Browsing and dissecting journals became second nature, and making sure that my writing fit the required APA style. Not to mention that it brought out a serious competence kink in me. I can’t complain about my grades though, so far, so good. And now I’m halfway through the program. Nothing like burying your nose in textbooks and being knee deep in research to help heal a broken heart, huh?

    But it’s not all work and school. Everybody knows that all work and no play makes me, well quite grumpy. And bitchy, to be exact. In between I managed to squeeze in a little bit of fun. I saw Beyoncé in May and finally went to Yosemite National Park on Memorial day. I spent 4th of July wine tasting with a good friend in Napa. Sampling too many dessert wines gave me a buzz quicker than I can say “Opa!“, so I think I’ll stick with my glass of red. I also spent a week in Hawaii with the family this past summer and had a blast hiking the Na Pali coast, eating poke, swimming, and snorkeling albeit that didn’t quite go well as planned. I rocked a nice tan after that. I was also playing tennis again.

    That summer also gave me the opportunity to work with good, old friends again. I forgot how easier and more bearable it is when you’re surrounded with people that you actually enjoy spending time with even when you have an 18 patient work day and way behind on paperwork. I love what I do but sometimes I do get burnt out. Although I’m spending way more money now eating out and trying new restaurants. As my good friend Momo says, “We exercise to eat!”. But lately it’s more eating than exercising. 

    2016 also made me appreciate being single again. I think sometimes we get wrapped up in the notion of having to be in a relationship that we forget to love ourselves the way we deserve to be loved. It made me value my me time and be grateful for the family and friends that I have. 

    For that, I am truly blessed.

    But, every story needs a twist, doesn’t it? At the beginning of the year, I received a text from my ex and for a moment,  it brought out all the hurt and memories that I was trying to forget. It took me a whole year before I was finally beginning to move on. “I miss you” doesn’t cut it anymore. It’s not enough.

    The universe has a perverse sense of humor though. On Christmas eve, I was running errands and when I was pulling into the parking lot, Mariah Carey started singing All I Want for Christmas Is You and of all the cars that I can be parked next to, and of all of the only other parking spot that was available, of course it had to be a white Toyota Prius. He drives a white Toyota Prius. I’m sorry but I stopped believing in signs a long time ago. I kept his text though,  as a reminder of what I want and what I don’t need. And like a scab, I poke it from time to time to see how far the scar has healed. It’s just a faint of a line now. It reminded me of what Brooke Davis has said about Lucas:

    Phantom feelings. Like, when you lose a leg and try to scratch it. Lucas was my gangrene infected amputated limb.

    A day into 2017, I finally deleted Johnny’s text.

    I am looking forward to the challenges of this year, as well as the laughters, the company of good friends and family, to meeting new people, having new adventures, and the knowledge that ultimately, I’ll be okay.


    You Were All I Wanted… But Not Like This

    On nights like this Taylor Swift just tells you how it is.

    One year.  Just when you are finally at a place where you are definitely okay and happy about being single, you get one text.

    What is it with exes?

    Does their tin foil hat start buzzing once you are happy? Or is there an alarm inside their head that goes off once they sense that you are finally moving on?

    I should have known that that day will come. I just thought that I was better prepared for it. My traitorous heart gave a little flutter, just like how when you are trying to do CPR and then finally feeling a pulse. Or when you have flatlined and 2.000 joules gets delivered to the myocardium, and finally you have a sinus rhythm. My mind on the other hand, in its typical cynicism, scoffs at the notion, screaming bloody murder.

    Because let’s face it. Seriously???

    I am not that same person a year ago. I am not the same person who fell in love with you. I am not the same person who foolishly believed all you had to say and believed who you were supposed to be.

    Taylor did sing it best,

    Here you are now, calling me up, but I don’t know what to say
    I’ve been picking up the pieces of the mess you made
    People like you always want back the love they pushed aside
    But people like me are gone forever when you say goodbye

    Stay, hey, all you had to do was stay
    Had me in the palm of your hand
    Then, why’d you had to go and lock me out when I let you in
    Stay, hey, now you say you want it
    Back now that it’s just too late
    Well could’ve been easy
    All you had to do was stay

    I had some growing up to do since the day you left.

    Now it’s your turn.






    As the last remnants of winter faded away into the warmth of spring, and as the old year closed out to commence a new beginning, I find myself embarking on a new journey as well. After being in the throes of heartbreak and a slew of health issues, I decided to finally pursue graduate school. It has been in the back burner for so long that it took a good dumping and a look into my own mortality to subsequently push me into doing so.

    I mean hell hath no fury like a woman scorned right? Plus, my inner bitch wouldn’t allow me to wallow in self-pity. I am not going to be that woman. So here I am. Instead of looking down at the dregs of tea in my teacup and mulling about what ifs and whatnots, I’d rather spend my nights buried in textbooks and knee-deep in writing and researching journals.

    I’m halfway through this semester and it’s quite an eye opener and humbling at the same time. I know I’m a good writer but having to write in a scholarly fashion is challenging. There’s a distinct difference between creative and scholarly writing and I have to say, thank you to all my English teachers throughout my entire education. Thank you for all the essays and formal themes in elementary and high school, and all the research and book reports in college. I am grateful that I have a good grasp of the English language.

    The hardest part for me is having the discipline to actually sit down and study after having a 13-14 or even sometimes a 15 patient work day. One look at my to do list and sometimes it’s just tempting to lounge around and open up a good bottle of Pinot that I have been meaning to in the past couple of weeks. But I’ve got deadlines so, like what Peter likes to tell Neal, I just cowboy up and put on my thinking cap, for at least for a few hours before I fall down exhausted on the bed. At least that doesn’t leave me much time to think about other things.

    That also doesn’t leave me time to date but I’m okay with it. I think I’m done with dating for a while. And I need a little breather, just take time to explore and just think of only me. Travel is also calling my name so I’m already lining up plans to hopefully traipse through Europe in the near future. New York is also beckoning and I would love to go back to the city that I fell in love with the first time that I was there. I already have Hawaii coming up in the late summer, Vegas for Thanksgiving and Disneyworld next year. If in between now and then I meet somebody, that’ll just be an added bonus.

    I’m set to finish school in the spring of 2018. That’s about 96 more weeks of citations, direct quotes, paraphrasing and references. But to have that added DPT at the end of my name? It’s worth it.

    And yes, you can call me doctor.






    Scars and Souvenirs

    2015 started with a heartbreak.

    All of the things that I thought I knew, I didn’t know at all. Turns out everything was a big fat lie and I let myself be deceived. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I knew it was coming, braced myself for the eventual pain but it still hurt nonetheless.

    When you ask somebody if they still want to be together and all you got is silence on the other end, that, itself is an answer.

    So I moved on.

    Or at least some semblance of getting through each day.

    I filled my time with work, letting out my frustrations at the gym and spending time with family so that at the end of the day, I was so exhausted that I had no time think of anything or somebody else except sleep.

    Wake up. Go to work. Work out. Eat. Sleep.

    And repeat.

    Before I knew it, it was already June.

    On my birthday weekend, I started to experience sharp stomach pains. I attributed it to food poisoning since we had Chinese food but another attack two days later, this time on the right upper quadrant and after a visit to the urgent care revealed multiple stones in my gall bladder in which one of them was blocking my common bile duct. It was no fun retching that whole weekend, but on the upside, I lost the almost 10 lbs I was trying to lose for the longest time.

    The urgent care doctor wanted me to undergo a procedure to remove the stone ASAP but I had a week long trip to Vegas coming up so that would just have to wait. Suffice to say, I tried a six day long regimen that I saw on FB about shrinking stones (to no avail) and let’s just say that chugging down half a cup of olive oil with half a cup of lemon is eewwww. I’ll never look at a vinaigrette the same way ever again.

    Having to brave the 100 degree desert heat is not fun but to be able to see the grandeur and majesty of the Grand Canyon and Zion was worth it. Even if my phone was stolen in the process. And all that’s left of it for me to remember it by was the charger.

    July came strolling along and I had ECRP to remove the stone that’s blocking the common bile duct. As it was my first procedure/ surgery ever, I was a nervous wreck by the time they wheeled me into the OR. The last thing I remembered was that they were strapping the compression sleeves around my calves. I woke up after and was described as a happy drunk but a very difficult patient, according to my family.

    It was the month of August when I fell in love with Taylor Swift. I went to her 1989 World Tour concert a skeptic but came out of Levi’s Stadium a certified Swiftie.

    I had scheduled to have a laparascopic cholecystectomy  in October but the consult with the general surgeon took a rather quite interesting turn. He was going over through my records and history when he looked up and asked to confirm about my breast cancer…. in 1999. Awkward pause. My first thought was, wait, is he telling me I have cancer???? It so happened that a couple pages of another patient’s chart got mixed up with mine. I’ve  never been both scared and amused in my life.

    Mom was due a week before my surgery to take care of me while I recover but of course, as they say, when it rains, it pours. I didn’t know how I did it but my right wrist started hurting and got so swollen that it merited another visit to the urgent care. Xrays revealed a calcification in my wrist and a suspected tear in the scapholunate ligament. I missed a week of work and I couldn’t even take the anti-inflammatory meds that the doctor has prescribed since I have surgery the following week. I’ve never appreciated having to have both functioning hands more than that moment. I was already thinking of worst case scenarios— it was Mozzie who said that behind every worst case scenario is a worst worst case scenario. I had already spoken to the hand therapist at work about prognosis and rehab and although prognosis is good, rehab is tedious and long since it’s a ligament repair.

    Fast forward to the lap chole, it went smoothly and I’ve never been more grateful for family and friends. I checked in at the hospital whole, I was discharged minus a gall bladder. That and a picture of me in all of my bedhead and bedraggled glory.

    As Thanksgiving neared, I had an appointment with an orthopedic doctor for my wrist and he mentioned that the gap between the scaphoid and lunate sometimes can be congenital. I was filled with a small sense of hope that the ligament might not be torn at all. They did a comparison Xray for both wrists and it revealed a difference of not even half a millimeter. He requested an MRI and arthrogram just to be on the safe side and the best $40 that I’ve ever spent was when the doctor told me that both diagnostic exams were normal.

    Yay! No more poking! No more probing! No more prodding!

    No more hospital or even urgent care visits for me! I’ve never been poked and prodded so much in my life since I think when I was born. That’s enough to last me a lifetime.

    At the end of November, I finally decided to pursue my doctorate in PT. It’s been a long time coming but I promised myself at the beginning of the year that I would. So I did.I’m currently finishing my application for the spring semester and hoping to get in. I’m both terrified and excited since it’s been 14 years since I graduated but I owe myself this.

    2015 has been a hell of a year.

    A day into 2016, I finally deleted Johnny’s voice mails.

    I’ll let Taylor Swift say it all.





    6, 8, 12

    It’s been six months, eight days and maybe more or less than 12 hours since we last saw each other.

    I have to admit, there are still times that I think of you.

    I think of us.

    But it doesn’t matter anymore.

    You left.

    And I’m here. The world keeps on turning.

    The days do what the days do and turn into weeks, and the weeks creep ever closer to a month. And another month. And another month.

    I’m finally at that point where I’m past the getting by stage. I’m actually moving on.

    My heart doesn’t skip a beat that much anymore every time a white Prius drives by.

    Or when I think of Italian food. Or even sushi for that matter.

    Or the little things, like the way someone spoke, or in the twinkle in someone’s eyes that remind me of you.

    I knew this time around, it’s different.

    I know the truth.  And it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

    I now know better than pine for somebody I can never have.

    Instead of a sharp, shooting pain, it’s now more of a dull ache.

    I have my work, family and friends that keep me busy. I don’t have time to fall apart.

    I can’t afford to fall apart.

    It’s just tiring. Having to open yourself up to the possibilities of love and having your heart ripped out into pieces.

    I think I’m done for a while.

    It’s time for me to chase my dreams instead and go to places I’ve never been.

    I know it’s going to take some time to get over you. But I will get over you.

    As Crazy Eyes had said,



    All I Could Do Was Cry


    Last Sunday, as I went to mass at the Carmelite monastery with a good friend, the first page of the missal was so apropos — A Season of Waiting.

    I have been in limbo these past few weeks. And I admit that being patient isn’t my strongest suit, but I don’t know how much longer I can wait and hope. I don’t know how much more my heart can take.

    It’s the not knowing that hurts the most.

    It’s the silence that is the most deafening.

    And I’m at that point where I’m starting not to care anymore.

    If this is a test, then I’m surely failing it. But how much more patience and grace can one person have when time and again you’re left tattered and in pieces? One can only hold on to the bumper for far too long before you get so badly bruised and you have to finally let go because it hurts too much.

    What was it that Meredith Grey once said?

    I just need something to happen. I need a sign that things are gonna change. I need a reason to go on. I need some hope.

    I don’t think I can wait anymore. As much as love is patient. As much as it is the hardest part. I’ve kept up my hopes for much too long. It’s about time they come crashing back down to earth.

    Reality beckons.

    So tonight, I’ll cry myself to sleep. Like the previous night. And the one before that. Cry until I can’t. Sob if I must. So that tomorrow when I wake up, I don’t have anything to cry over anymore.