I wanted this blog to be called "Rowe's Room." Unfortunately, it's not available and I could not pull up who/what it is being used for.
"Rowe's Room" makes me think of so many wonderful things and yes, I'm bummed that I don't get to use it. When I was a teenager and living in Manila, my friends loved to hang out at our house, in my room. Our house was located near the entrance of our gated "village" (what we called our private communities) and residents pretty much had to drive by our house to go in/out of the village (for those who lived in the Annex side). My room was a common venue for lazy afternoons and those rare Saturday nights when I was not out at some party (or parties) or event. Yes, there were those Saturdays, believe it or not. Of course, no boys were allowed in Rowe's Room, it was my parents' home after all, and hello...I was a good catholic girl. (Okay, no snickering...I was, truly!) The boys allowed were friends who had girlfriends with them - definitely not MY boyfriend(s).
My room was like a "lounge." Airconditioned (remember, Manila location), tv, music, and an abundance of yummy snacks, hand-made and from scratch, cooked and baked by my awesome chef of a mom. Ensaymadas and sans rival and chocolate cakes were typical at my house, all at the same time. How I was not 300 lbs back then, I don't know. Perhaps the bountiful presence of food made me less interested.
Apart from mom's yummies available to us in Rowe's Room, I had makeup, accessories, cool stuff that made hanging out for hours fun (okay, not as fun as being out to parties..but fun enough).
Rowe's room was also on the corner of our lot. Windows faced out to the street. Friends driving by would see my lights on, or my car on the driveway, and next thing you know, there are 5+ ppl stopping at the house and trotting up to Rowe's Room. Good memories...
In Rowe's Room was where I wrote and wrote and wrote for hours and hours. Journals, letters, poems. I still have my red spiral-bound notebook with poems and quotes. The letters (I kept copies of letters I wrote to people), I don't have anymore and I can't recall when I decided to let go of them. I grew up watching my beloved dad, a beautiful writer who used a fountain pen and a ledger for a journal, write for hours as well. I wish I had his journals. I used to sneak in and read his entries..I used to get lost in his words. For some reason, my mom says she does not have my dad's journals. I get so sad thinking about how his legacy in words are now just lost, and I will not be able to read about his last days, last years.
A few people have told me to blog. For the most part, they want me to blog about my being a mom to my little luvvies. I wonder why anyone would want to read my words about anything. What is it to anyone, why would it be interesting? So, if you are out there, reading this...my musings, I wonder why!
It's almost midnight now. I am quite tired after an uncomfortable 1.5 hours at the dentist's for a filling, then a day at the job (Mozilla), then the rush of getting the little luvvies from school, bathed and then hauling myself to my first dance class (where I was humbled by chacha and samba). Miche has gone to bed and so should I. A Zyrtec (for my allergies) is part of each night time routine, leaving me groggy for the first 10 or so minutes upon waking every morning.
Tomorrow morning, I will wake up and will give my luvvies their goodmorning/wake-up kisses as I always do. And then it begins all over again. Go, go, go...rowe. That's me.