White Lies and Why I tell Them

Lie barometer?

I’ve been told never to tell lies. It doesn’t matter the color–they’re still lies–so I’m told. I had it drummed  into my head as a little girl. My faith talks about lying and how it rots the morale. I know all that and every fiber of my being was arranged by upbringing and teaching to never even start–they say one lie leads to another and then another. And before you know it, you’re in tangle of lies, so mangled it can choke you.

I know, I know–don’t even start.

But this morning, I found myself on the grey side of lying.

I called my daughter’s school to tell them I need to check my daughter out early.

Why? They need to know.

Urhh…the little goodness in me is tapping me on the head, “Go ahead, tell them.”

But my better judgment took over and I managed to blurt, “Well, she has a doctor’s appointment.”

She hung up–apparently happy with my reason. I hung up, too, but a nagging voice was berating my morale, “That’s a lie and you know it.”

Shh…it’s Ok, I tell my little prim and proper voice.  How can I tell the school that I’m just taking my girl out early because  she’s suffering from exhaustion. The school has worked her to the bones–night after night of torrential homework and she’s is badly in need of a little rest.

That plain truth would never fly. Would it? It would be lame and the “too school for cool” bit would rear its ugly head and scold me for being a lame mom.  So for the sake of expediency and convenience,  a little harmless lie is not going to hurt anyone. Right?

I don’t know whether it’s right. Theologians and moralists have argued about this for years and still, there’s no definite conclusion. Or so I hope to believe.  I’m neither and though I agree that lies (the kinds that hurt and are devious in nature) as a whole is not a wholesome thing, I don’t have a compelling conviction on the little lies that I sometimes find myself telling for a variety of reasons:

  • I don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings, so I cloaked my responses with what they want to hear. Been there? “Yes, food is umm..interesting ” when deep down, you know it would be mean to say, “It tastes like crap.”
  • I don’t want to explain a complicated situation to a nosy inquirer, so I distill my story to a synopsis of “only what I want to tell.”
  • My spouse is being OCD, so for the sake of harmony in the house, I tell him what will placate him and save the family from endless interrogation and discord. I do that a lot–part of my job description.
  • My family overseas (in Singapore) wants to know if I’m doing OK, so I generally tell them I’m well, to save them from worrying about me and feeling helpless 12,000 miles away.
  • My kids want to know why I’m crying, so I tell them I’ve an allergy, so they wouldn’t know that the finances are tight, that there are impending lawsuits regarding the guy who sold us a piece of land with promises to build a road and then ran away. (Actually they know a little, but not the full extent–why would I clutter their brains with worrisome details?)
  • No, I really don’t want to go to that event, so I plan myself a little event, just so, I’ve an excuse when “cornered” into attending.

Lies. Lies. And more. I can’t help myself.  I wonder what would happen if  everyone has a “Pinochio” nose for a lie barometer. Mine may be the longest, I don’t know. But sometimes, for the sake of sanity, for the sake of peace and civility (so my rationalization says), it’s necessary to use my “lie” discretion to tell a little white lie.

So, there, I’ve made my confession and in so doing, I hope to abscond myself from guilt. Now, that’s the  truth.


I Hate Headache

I Hate Headache

It has invited itself
lodged secure in the crevices of
the head, a bold intruder
with a broken harp to serenade
most disquieting the sound it makes.

It drones on…
jarring and tenacious
not taking hints or even orders
to stop the discord of maddening drones.

In vain,  I down ibuprofen
not one but two extra strength
throw on the cover
and hope to lull the intruder
to sleep., perchance to leave.

But deep down, the heart
signs, the weight of the world
the pain, anxiety, frustration….
the reasons for the intruder’s visit
is not about to exit.

Banging Your Head Silly

courtesy of theweightlosstips.co.uk

Bang Your Head at Your Own Risk


You can lose weight by banging your head? 150 calories? Really? Not really–maybe, you’re banging your head out of frustration. Weight loss, as in most things in life that are elusive are frustrating. They frustrate you endlessly, shamelessly and they taunt you to no end.

On any given day, I can tell you the number of things that can induce head-banging session. The kids throw a fit over the cereal you bought for them, after you re-confirmed and re-confirmed (from previous bad experience) their cereal choices.  So, what make them throw a fit over the cereal this morning? Go figure! It can be the weather, the nasty teacher they have to face, the raging adolescence hormones or just because they need to diffuse the “life stinks at the moment” reality. Whatever!

And that’s just the beginning of the day.

As the day wears on, I’m sure you’re familiar with the many frustrations that arise out of nowhere, everywhere to frustrate the heck of you. Or maybe not, your day is going swimming well (on occasions, you’re given that hall pass to enjoy the day). If your day is well and good, I say, be on your way–enjoy it and don’t bother to read further.  The rest of the blog is for people grappling with life’s frustrations, that only a good head banging fit will do.

Here’s a little verse to share and maybe, we can all tap to the rhythm of our heads hitting that wall:

Ever felt like banging your head?

When life goes wrong
as they’re often do
your car dies on the way to the airport.
You blew your last allowance on roses
only to fade…your professed love trampled
withered petals strewn .

Your designer jacket wows
friends and all
All’s swell until the ketchup
oozes out of hamburger to color
a blotch to blemish forever.

You scheme and you plan
the perfect dinner
all glorious and ready
only to receive text
“Heavy rain..not coming.”

Frustrations, setbacks and obstacles
life’s tautings know no bounds
strikes when you least expect
To cry, to cower, to buckle,
That would have been too easy
To give life a run
That’s the fun.

Have felt like banging your head?
Try singing instead.

Hope in a Jar

There is something appealing about hope in a jar. It’s contained–in a jar, in a bottle. It’s not going anywhere–it’s right here in the palm of your hand. Like a genie trapped in a bottle, your “presumed” hope is about to grant you your wish. It’s about to do as it says…as promised in the jar. Sagging skin? The ingredients contained in the jar will resurface skin to a glow. Grappling with unwanted weight? The jar promises to bust fat and more—raise self-esteem. Blemishes, irritable bowel syndrome or just acne–there’s a jar of hope for everything.

Hope in a Jar

Recently, while searching for a moisturizer, I came across this a real specimen of “Hope in the Jar.” It’s part of the philosophy line of cosmetics and it promises “where there is hope there can be faith, where there is faith miracles can occur.”

Wow, that’s what I’m talking about–just what I need for my skin. A miracle is in order to restore radiance but wait a minute–this hope salve doesn’t come cheap. Of course, that is all relative–the price that is. To some, it’s a drop in a bucket, to others an expense that would possibly burn a hole in the already slim wallet. Well, I belong to the later group–wish I didn’t but such is life–you get what you get and you don’t get upset. I know, that’s my mother talking. Oh well, I would have to find hope  somewhere else.

If you want hope badly, you’ll find a way–a plan B or another route–maybe, not what you intend it to be first but there are more than one way to reach a hill, or so they say.

I found hope in a small bottle of organic rose hip seed  oil. Cost: $8.99. It

Rosehip oil--nature's hope.

promises to rejuvenate, revitalize, “radianize” and add glow. And because it’s as close to nature as it gets–nature’s essential oil from rosehips–I’ve nothing to complain. In fact, I told myself it’s better. No chemicals, no additives, no long complicated anal sounding names. Just pure oil.

Which brings me to the realization, that through the centuries, people have always  search for alternatives to obstacles. If there’s a wall, we’ll scale it. If there’s a roadblock, we’ll go on a detour. If there’s a hole, we’ll skirt around and continue on our way. If there’s a threat, we may run (if there’s no other way), stand tall and fight (we can be very brave) or counter-attach with our own threats. No one can beat us down, unless we first decide to.

So, while I may not be able to buy that sophisticated jar of hope,  I have managed to buy hope in a jar under my own terms.


I’ve taken a number
I’m told, “You’ll be helped momentarily.”
I plunked down on the sofa
Knowing that my name is on the line
No worries, I’ll be called in time.

I’ve been studying the colors of my toenails
the patterns on the wall takes shapes
maybe a vine, maybe a tendril, maybe just lines
Names are called, people drained out
of place, relieved, no more pouts.

The shadows shifts
digital clock clicks
Still, my name was not up.
My eyes bulged with desires
Call me before I expire!

A New Lease of Life

Life can run you down if you’re not careful. Life’s crazy web of “to-do” things  can snag you in its  spidery veins  and before you know it, you’re  trapped in its grasp, grasping for life.  You’ve a string of things to do, all lined up like beads on a necklace. Quite like a choker, if you think about it. It looks pretty (yes, life can be so darn pretty when you’re on the outside) but it hangs around your neck. Weighing you down. As if  you’re not already buried under the tons of things to do.

Everyone can use a second chance. So can this blog.

So, if you find that I’m not making sense–it’s sounds like the rumblings of a deranged woman, you’re right. I’ve long ceased to think too much. I’ve only one action word at this point of my life–DO and get it DONE (ok, maybe two).

I’ve spent my life dedicated to this task of “getting it done.” And if you’ve been there, you know there’s no getting it done. The dishes have to be loaded, today and tomorrow and forever. The clothes have to be sorted and washed,  today and forever. The sack lunches have to be packed and ready to go, today and as long as your kids are in school (which seems like forever, at the moment). The dog needs walking, maybe  so does the husband (mine does), the grass grows and the shower gathers slime. All screaming and clamoring for you to come to their rescue.

In the process, some things get neglected. They fade into oblivion, festers on the pending shelf and maybe die a slow natural death.

Just like this blog. I started this blog sometime back–the blog remains unnamed –it’s simply called my web. It has some random entries and I didn’t know how to work most of the stuff . I know I should have learned but where’s the time?. Over time, I forgot about it.

Recently, a new venture took me back to this blog. I’ve since given it a new look and learned how to add some widgets. I’m still trying to figure some things out, but in the meantime, at least it’s up and running.  So, feel free to comment and share your stories and let’s give this blog a new lease of life.

Engage Life!

frog peeking through leaves

Unflinching, unrelenting the stare

A dazed look, you may declare

Look again, beneath the droopy lids

Nothing escapes, not even one tiny bit.

Under the shroud of leafy camouflage

A creature at large

Free to engage

The world is all a stage.