Tag Archives: bedtime story

Slightly Spooky Reads #2: The Flea Circus (Part 2 of 2)

“I need you to see this.” I dragged her back to my discovery.

“Oh, I had almost forgotten about this place,” she said. Her eyes looked misty, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the dust.

“Who owned this room?”

“Your grandfather did. He painted as a hobby.”

“And the woman on the canvas?”

“Ah, that was your grandmother,” my mom smiled, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

“That’s her?” I asked in disbelief. “Why did lolo paint her in such an odd way?”

“That was the day they first met,” my mom explained. “Your lolo went to the town’s fiesta and decided to attend the cirus. It was in one of the shows, amidst little people running about scaring kids, and a woman in a mermaid costume getting dunked in a water-filled basin that she spotted your lola—the ringmaster of a flea circus. Apparently, she was very good at making the tiny sets of carriages and carousels that the fleas could move around in. Your lolo was impressed with the detail of her work and plucked the courage to ask her out. When your lolo asked for her hand in marriage, she never went back to the circus.”

I was speechless. I looked through the canvasses, and lola, as a flea ringmaster, was apparently my grandfather’s favorite subject. They were beautiful and strange paintings of a pale young woman in a loose bun, a small black hat, a striped tailored jacket and very red lips.

“How come you never mentioned this?”

“When I was younger, our home was filled with his paintings. But when papa died, mama hid all of it in here because she said it was too painful. I guess over the years, I forgot.”

“I always thought lola never really approved of my drawings.”

“You’ve got her all wrong,” my mom shook her head. “This was the note she left for me,” she reached into her pocket.

Take care of this house for Elsa. Someday, she will be a fine artist, just like her lolo.

 

Slightly Spooky Reads #2: The Flea Circus (Part 1 of 2)

When my mom announced that we’d be moving to her hometown of Laguna, I was shocked. She explained that she had inherited the ancestral house, and since we were cutting down on expenses, we’d be moving there permanently. I had never seen my grandmother’s place before. It was always my grandmother who visited us whenever she had errands to run in Manila. Having lived in the city all my life, I didn’t know what to expect. And it wasn’t like my lola was any help. She never talked about Laguna. She spoke to me only to ask about school. She never cracked a smile, never loosened the tight bun her hair was imprisoned to. I tried showing her some of my drawings, but all she ever did was raise an eyebrow.

“We’re near,” my mom said as we passed through a concrete marker that read Pila. Rows of beautiful old houses and a church made of bricks greeted us along the way. I felt transported to another time. I quickly grabbed my sketch pad and began drawing.

We stopped in front of a white house with wide capiz windows and wooden moldings.

“We’re here,” my mom said.

When we entered, my mom pointed to a room with double doors. “That was hers.”

I stroked the carved details of the heavy narra door as I slowly pushed it open. The room was immaculately clean—the wooden floors gleamed, as if it were polished daily. A four-poster bed with a daintily crocheted cover was at the center. To its right was a dresser with an oval mirror and crystal knobs. On it were lola’s hairbrushes, arranged by height. Two framed black and white photos hung on the wall. With her hair down and a curious smile on her face, the woman in the portrait hardly resembled my grandmother. The other frame was that of my lolo. He looked very much like the respected doctor that he was in his white shirt and black tie. I wished I had gotten to know him. He had passed before I was even born.

“Mom, let’s check out the other rooms,” I said, tugging at her sleeve. I was itching to find the perfect space to draw.

“Sorry, Elsa. I need to unpack. You can explore on your own, just don’t leave the house.”

I nodded. I dashed to the dining room and found a long table that could sit twelve people. Beautiful plates were on display in the cabinets. I crossed the other end and spotted a smaller room, identical to my grandmother’s. When I entered, I spotted on the dresser what appeared to be a photo of my mom when she was my age. She was playing the piano. Then, something caught my eye—a keyhole beside the dresser. When I looked closely, I saw a well-hidden outline of a door.

“Mom,” I hollered. I ran outside to look for her. “May I borrow your set of keys?” She grabbed it from her purse and handed it to me. I quickly went back inside and searched for a slim key. I got the door open on my second attempt. With no window in sight, the room was completely dark. I patted the walls to look for a light switch, and when I found it, I flicked it on.

“What the…” my voice trailed as light flooded the room. Walls of shelves covered every space. In them were odd-sized bottles, brushes and canvasses filled with color. The floor was covered in thick dust as if it hadn’t been swept in ages. At the center was an easel and when I looked at what was mounted, I was captivated. On it was a young woman with dark circles around her eyes and a painted smile on her lips. But there was something about her that reminded me of someone.

“Mom,” I gasped, trying to catch my breath as I rushed back to my mother.

“What is it this time?” Mom asked as she handed our luggage to the housekeeper.

Spooky Reads #1: My Friends in the Attic (Part 3 of 3)

Part 3

Elsa hurriedly went down the stairs and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mom!” She called out, her voice cracked.

“Elsa?” Her mom shouted back. “Elsa, where are you?”

Elsa stepped into the kitchen and saw her mom talking to a person in a police uniform.

“Elsa!” Her mom gave her the tightest hug. “Where have you been? Why are you covered in soot? What happened to you?”

Elsa glanced at her reflection on the shiny refrigerator. She looked thin and raggedy.

“When I came back from the sale, you were gone! We’ve been looking for you for days!” Elsa’s mom continued, her eyes red, her hair in disarray.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Elsa said. She began to sob, knowing that she was that close to being lost forever.

“No, Elsa. I’m sorry. I should’ve been spending more time with you. I forgot how important you are…more important than anything in the world.” She kissed Elsa’s forehead over and over again. “I have no excuses left. If there’s something that you want us to do together, just tell me.”

“Maybe we could walk outside and grab some food? I’m kind of hungry,” Elsa asked.

“Get cleaned and be ready in five! We’re going out,” her mom said, squeezing Elsa’s hand.

“Mom?” Elsa glanced back. “Did you know we have an attic?”

“No, I didn’t. Do you want to go and explore it later?”

“I want to clean it out,” Elsa said.

Spooky Reads #1: My Friends in the Attic (Part 1 of 3)

PART I

It was a summer day perfect for doing nothing at all. For once, thick clouds hid the punishing rays of the sun and the air was quite cool. Any other kid would have been thrilled at the prospect of sleeping in or maybe watching copious amounts of Youtube. But Elsa wasn’t like any other kid. She woke up at exactly 6 am every day and was never very interested in watching any sort of tube. She sighed loudly and reluctantly got out bed.

“Mom?” Elsa called out as she headed to the kitchen.

“Cereal and milk are on the table,” Mom said, barely looking up from her computer. As usual, she was doing three things at once —drinking coffee, typing on her laptop, and chatting on the phone.

“I guess we’re not walking around the block today,” Elsa said, even though she already knew the answer.

Mom didn’t even blink to acknowledge her statement.

Zombie mode. She knew that when her mom was like this, she’d be rooted to her “office” for hours on end. Elsa ate in silence as she tried to remember the last time they went out. It was months ago, with her dad a week away from ending his vacation and going back to work in Dubai. He reserved a room for them at a resort and they spent a whole day at the beach with no phones and no computers to compete with. But now, Dad was back to his work and Mom was as busy as ever.

Elsa cleared the table and washed her bowl just to have something to do. Now what? Elsa counted the wooden boards she stepped on as she went up the second floor of what she jokingly calls their new-old house, a house that her grandmother recently passed on to Elsa’s mom.

She checked the shelves and scanned through Lola Isabel’s worn-out volumes of Reader’s Digest magazines. I need light. Elsa searched the ceiling for a light bulb. But instead, she saw a chain hanging from the ceiling. I’ve never seen that before, Elsa thought to herself. She quickly ran to her room and got an umbrella. She hooked the umbrella to the chain and pulled on it. Stairs slowly came down to the ground.

An attic! Elsa’s heartbeat quickened as she began to climb the staircase. Faint light was shining through a small window, but it wasn’t enough for Elsa to see what was inside the room. She groped around for a light switch and found one. Warm yellow light filled the room and Elsa was amazed at what she saw—dusty albums, hard-bound books, framed photographs, wooden trunks—she couldn’t believe her luck! A treasure trove of things to explore! She picked up a book and dusted its cover. It was an encyclopedia dating back to the 1970’s. Elsa poured over its contents, laughing at some outdated information and carefully looking at each picture being described. She was so absorbed that she failed to notice a ball of dust rolling across her feet. Soon, the ball was on her shoulder.

“Hi!” A tiny voice came from nowhere. She looked around, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from. She spotted the black ball of dust on her shoulder and was about to sweep it off when she heard it squeak.

“Who are you? What are you?” Elsa said, her voice filled with wonder.

“We’re dust sprites and we live in this attic,” the ball spoke.

Then, another gray ball emerged from between her feet. “We are the guardians of the things people have forgotten. Can we help you look for anything?”

Elsa grew silent for a while, thinking of the situation she was in. The sprites looked harmless enough, and quite cute with their big round eyes and furry bodies. Between the prospect of dying from boredom downstairs to talking to these eager balls of dust, she thought the latter was the obvious choice.

“Hmmm…,” Elsa tapped her chin. “Do you have something actually owned by Lola Isabel? I was just a toddler when she passed away.”

“Oh, we have a lot of those,” a particularly furry sprite rolled away and came back with an album.

Elsa flipped over the pages and saw beautiful black and white photos of a woman who looked like a more dressed up version of her mom. She was glamorous, with her beaded gowns and her hair pinned up. Elsa got so absorbed with looking at pictures that she almost forgot the time.

“Elsa!” She heard the distant voice of her mom. “Oh, gotta run!” Elsa said a quick goodbye to her new friends.

“Come back soon!” The dust sprites gathered at the attic’s opening to say their goodbyes.

Going to the attic quickly became Elsa’s favorite pastime whenever her mom was working, which was practically all the time. She was always careful to pull the stairs back up whenever she climbed. She didn’t want her mom to find her special place and ban her from it. She’d spend hours playing with her cute friends, soon giving them equally cute nicknames. She’d try on the old gowns that had been stored away and do a fashion show with the sprites. She’d open trunks and read through beautifully penned love letters. The sprites always tried their best to find what she wanted.

One particularly long stay, Elsa’s stomach grumbled. “Oops, I’ll just go down and grab some food.”

“No need,” Shorty (the stumpy one) said. “Let us show you some of our magic.” It took an old magazine and opened it to a page with a spread of food—cubed cheese on a wooden tray, blueberry bagels, sugared donuts and a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “Point to what you like.”

Elsa pointed to a cube of cheese and somehow, the sprite was able to lift actual cheese from the page.

“Cheddar!” Elsa exclaimed as she popped the cheese in her mouth. “Can you get me a doughnut?” The sprite called for some help to lift the doughnut from the page, and just like the cheese, a fluffy doughnut appeared.

“I could get used to this,” Elsa said, eating to her stomach’s content.

“Anything for you,” the sprites smiled, throwing approving looks at each other.

 

Happy Birthday Charles Perrault!

As I was using Google to search the net, I was enamoured by its beautiful fairy tale-inspired banners.  


Inadvertantly, I clicked on one and it led me to the reason behind the banners–it’s Charles Perrault’s birthday!

I love Perrault, not just because he created magical tales, but also because he didn’t let age (he wrote Tales and Stories of the Past with Morals at 67) nor profession (he was a lawyer before becoming a writer) limit him from fulfilling his dreams! He is a constant reminder to me of what can be achieved when one has enough belief and passion.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLES! I tip my hat to you, sir!

Tooth Fairy Not Welcome!

David was a boy who loved taking care of his teeth. He brushed it and made sure it stayed clean all day. He didn’t eat sweets so as not to get tooth decay. Everybody complimented him for his perfectly white milk teeth.

But as with all milk teeth, one day, David found one of them loose.

“Mom!” David panicked. “There’s something wrong with my front tooth!”

Mom checked it out and smiled. “Oh David, a new one is getting ready to come out!”

“But I like this one,” David frowned.

“Don’t worry, when it comes off, the tooth fairy will replace it with a shiny new coin.”

“But I don’t want a new coin. I want my tooth to stay put!”

Despite David’s best efforts and most diligent brushing, the tooth came off. And just like Mom said, the tooth fairy left a coin under David’s bed, and his pearly white tooth disappeared.

Just when David was getting used to his growing new tooth, another one started wiggling.

Oh no! David muttered under his breath. I’m keeping this away from the tooth fairy.

When it came off, instead of burying it under his pillow, he hid it in his pajama pocket.

The next day, David emptied his pocket, but was surprised to find a coin instead of a tooth.

Stay away from my teeth! David grumbled.

Every time another tooth came out, he hid it! He tried hiding it in his toy box, in a bottle, on top of his highest shelf. He even hid it under lock and key. But the tooth fairy always found his tooth.

Finally, he was down to his last milk tooth. He was determined to keep this one. He thought to put it in the last place the fairy would check. He put it inside his dad’s tool box and locked it in the shed.

David was so tired and sad. He knew that no matter what he did, the tooth fairy would always find his tooth.

The next day, he dragged himself from bed, and expected another coin in his father’s tool box.

When he opened the box, he broke into a huge smile. Wrapped in a big bow was all his milk teeth arranged in a cast. Attached to it was a note sprinkled with glittery dust.

It read:

Dear David, 

It was fun playing hide and seek with your teeth! 

Thanks for taking such good care of it! As a reward, I organized it for you to keep! 

Smile!

Denty the Tooth Fairy

ZsaZsa Goes to Benguet!

 

“We are going home to Benguet!” Mama announced over breakfast one morning.

“Benguet?!” I whined. “Do we have to?” From Papa’s stories of his trips there, Benguet was this faraway province on top of a mountain. I just knew the long trip was going to be boooring!

“Yes, we have to. We are going to visit our family, and our tribe–the Igorots of Bay-yo,” Mama said with a smile.

“Mama!” I wailed as I crossed my hands over my chest and growled. I didn’t like to be called an Igorot. My classmates teased me when I first introduced myself as an Igorot, and from then on, I stopped mentioning it to anyone.

“I’m sorry, ZsaZsa, but I don’t understand you,” she said patiently. “We come from a long line of native Filipinos. Before the Spaniards came, we were already here, growing our crops, developing our crafts, and caring for our families! You should be proud to belong to such a unique group.”

I sighed. Mama looked long and hard at me, as if saying that I didn’t have a choice in the matter.

I had lived in Manila all seven years of my life. I knew the noisy horns of our jeeps, the colorful billboards along our paved roads, and the people dressed in their uniforms going to work and school. But I knew nothing of Benguet, except that it was high up in the mountains and that we belonged to a tribe.

Finally, it was the day of our trip. Papa woke me up early. “It’s a long trip, honey. Pack your jacket because its going to be cold.”

“Why are we called Igorot anyway?” I asked, still cranky that I had been woken up.

“Well, our name literally means that we are from the mountains,” Mama explained.

“Ok, now I know what an Igorot is. We don’t have to actually go there,” I said, hoping to still change their minds.

“We can’t just tell you what an Igorot is. You have to see it for your own eyes. You have to experience what it is like to be from the mountains.” Mama raised an eyebrow at me.

The rocking of the car lulled me to sleep. When I woke up, we were by the road on the mountainside.

“Just in time!” Papa said. “Look at the zigzag roads we are passing through!”

Even I couldn’t help but stare at the roads we were passing. Beside us was the mountain, and we were going around it. The view of the pines trees and the clouds touching the mountain took my breath away. I opened my window slightly and felt the cold wind hit my face.

Mama pointed to me the sides of the mountains with what seemed to be carved flooring. “See those? That is how we planted. Even if it is very hard to plant on mountains, the Igorots were able to figure out how to do it. We call our rice fields kapayyew.”

“Wow!” I couldn’t help but smile. “It looks wonderful, Mama. Can we see it up close?” She nodded eagerly.

Finally, we had arrived! Everyone was dressed in colorful woven fabric.

“I’m glad you’re here!” An elderly woman approached us.

“Yes, it’s time for ZsaZsa to know her roots,” Mama said.

“Let’s get you dressed so that we can teach you how to dance the Bendian!”

Mama dressed me in the same striped cloth and wrapped a thin woven belt around my head. It was fun hopping and raising my hands together with the children of the tribe. Then we shared a meal of Pinikpikan and Innasin. I was excited to try everything. The elders told me stories of my parents and they were very nice in answering all my questions. I even took many pictures with them. When the day ended, Mama sat beside me.

“Did you have a good time today?” She asked as I smiled sleepily.

“I had the best day! Thank you for bringing me to Benguet. I can’t wait to show my classmates pictures of our tribe!” I said as I kissed her goodnight.

 

Cinderspectarella Illustrated!

character design

It’s been a while since I last posted anything, and it’s because I’ve been having my stories illustrated. Just look at how cute my Cinderspectarella is turning out to be! Excited because it’s almost done. What do you think of it?

CinderSpectaRella Part 4 of 4

The next day, the prince disguised himself as the herald and personally went about the town to ask who owned the glasses. “The prince will invite whoever owns these glasses to a dinner at the castle!” He announced.

When the prince arrived in Cinderella’s home, the stepmother hurriedly brought out her daughters to fit the spectacles.

“This is mine!” Elvira pushed the glasses to her puffy face and almost broke it. She tried walking with the glasses, but immediately got dizzy and conked her head on the nearest tree.

“I’m sorry,” the prince shook his head. “This cannot be yours.”

“It’s mine!” Charlotte yanked the glasses from her sister. She wore it, and smiled as the glasses fit her long and tapered face. But she couldn’t see anything. When she extended her hand to the prince, she ended up slapping him on the face.

“I think not,” the prince turned around to leave. But just as he was about to mount his horse, Cinderella peeked from behind the door.

“May I try it?” She asked, squinting her eyes as she walked towards the prince.

“Oh no, she cannot be the one you are looking for. She didn’t even leave the house last night! And even if she did, she wouldn’t have seen the prince. Rumor has it that the prince was dancing with only one person the whole night!

But the prince insisted, and when she put the glasses on, everything was clear again.

“You’re not the herald, you’re the prince!” Cinderella exclaimed, staring into the eyes of the handsome man she danced with the night before.

The prince smiled. He knew he had found his princess at last.

And Cinderella lived with perfect vision for the rest of her life.

The End