I’ve been cleaning the room I’m using as my atelier. This is where I do my drafting, design work, and my paintings. It’s a small room, 12’ x 12’, and it has my drafting table, a console table, a rack and my easels; and it is now cluttered with a lot of things. I have hardly any room to move around. I have to sort out all the clutter – throw some away, shred some, keep some and organize them. I have an old record player I have to discard. I thought I could still play my old vinyl records, the turntable, however, doesn’t work anymore, and so does the cassette player. The radio is the only one that works and the speakers which are in very good condition. I, however, have decided that it has to go bye-bye.
Old documents I have sorted out careful. Those with vital information I have to shred them. That would prevent identity thieves from stealing them; old magazines, books, others I tossed in a recycle box.
As I sorted through the pile I found a poem written by “Boney.” I’ve been looking for this poem for a long time; and I found an old Christmas card dated Dec. 1993, which was sent to me by a young woman. I met her three years before that. She was a nice young Filipina born and bred back home. She was charming; has so much respect for her elders, always addressing me and my husband with that word “po.” I rarely hear those words nowadays, except of course here in the internet from young men and women born and raised back home. After she sent me that card, she stopped coming to my house. From what I heard she’s doing well. I miss her and I wish the best for her.
I found a shoe box full of old letters from back home, dating back in the 80s. I reread some of them, and then shredded each one of them. Letters from my mother are still tucked away in my closet, untouched.
The books and magazines I kept are now organized on their respective shelves. My drafting table, however, is still cluttered. I am slowly sorting them, and I found some old poems which I have written sometime ago. My sketches will be filed in an album.
To this day I am still sorting some odds and ends. It’s been more than a week already. I thought I could do it in a day or so, but it’s taking me longer than that.
Old documents I have sorted out careful. Those with vital information I have to shred them. That would prevent identity thieves from stealing them; old magazines, books, others I tossed in a recycle box.
As I sorted through the pile I found a poem written by “Boney.” I’ve been looking for this poem for a long time; and I found an old Christmas card dated Dec. 1993, which was sent to me by a young woman. I met her three years before that. She was a nice young Filipina born and bred back home. She was charming; has so much respect for her elders, always addressing me and my husband with that word “po.” I rarely hear those words nowadays, except of course here in the internet from young men and women born and raised back home. After she sent me that card, she stopped coming to my house. From what I heard she’s doing well. I miss her and I wish the best for her.
I found a shoe box full of old letters from back home, dating back in the 80s. I reread some of them, and then shredded each one of them. Letters from my mother are still tucked away in my closet, untouched.
The books and magazines I kept are now organized on their respective shelves. My drafting table, however, is still cluttered. I am slowly sorting them, and I found some old poems which I have written sometime ago. My sketches will be filed in an album.
To this day I am still sorting some odds and ends. It’s been more than a week already. I thought I could do it in a day or so, but it’s taking me longer than that.
The poem by "Boney."
Stan and Sam
There was a man
Named Stan
Who drove a van
And owned a toucan
Named Fran.
Bored on the road the man,
Drove over a soda can
And stopped his van;
And fell asleep with Fran,
His beloved toucan.
Unbeknownst to him his van
Was unlocked, and Stan,
The next morning drove his van
And heard a voice not of Fran.
The voice said, “Sam, I am.”
He looked around and saw Sam
Sitting behind a can of Spam.
The voice said again, “Sam, I am,
And I do not like Spam,
Please being me green eggs and ham.”
So Fran told Stan
To drive to Pam’s
Where he traded the Spam
For unknown Sam’s
Green eggs and ham.
When Stan returned to his van
With green eggs and ham
To his surprise there was a man
On top of Sam.
For Sam wasn’t a man
But a woman named…Samantha.
“Boney”
****************************
There was a man
Named Stan
Who drove a van
And owned a toucan
Named Fran.
Bored on the road the man,
Drove over a soda can
And stopped his van;
And fell asleep with Fran,
His beloved toucan.
Unbeknownst to him his van
Was unlocked, and Stan,
The next morning drove his van
And heard a voice not of Fran.
The voice said, “Sam, I am.”
He looked around and saw Sam
Sitting behind a can of Spam.
The voice said again, “Sam, I am,
And I do not like Spam,
Please being me green eggs and ham.”
So Fran told Stan
To drive to Pam’s
Where he traded the Spam
For unknown Sam’s
Green eggs and ham.
When Stan returned to his van
With green eggs and ham
To his surprise there was a man
On top of Sam.
For Sam wasn’t a man
But a woman named…Samantha.
“Boney”
****************************
